


Between the Lines

by the_letter_c



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Microaggressions, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22571743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_letter_c/pseuds/the_letter_c
Summary: In the Imperial Year 1180, a pair of unlikely friends form a bond that must endure the cruelty of others, an inescapable war, the anguish of grief, and the wicked hands of time itself. Told from the alternating perspectives of both Lysithea von Ordelia and Cyril of Garreg Mach, this is the story of how two young people struggled against the world at large and reconciled what they might do with the time they had left.Rated T for graphic depictions of violence, death, war, trauma, and illness and for other mildly adult themes.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	1. Lysithea: Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea trudges her back to her dorm room following an encounter with a frustrating young boy, contending with her anger and her empathy along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

Garreg Mach Monastery looked like the sky had crashed down on it in the mornings. Mist swirled over and through every courtyard, field, and alleyway of the place, and it made making one’s way to an early class an absolute pain. For those who got themselves up even earlier, walking through the morning fog was tantamount to navigating the monastery in a blindfold.

Lysithea regularly cursed her luck for being an early riser, but her fear of the dark never allowed her to stay up or sleep in as long as she might have liked. This morning was no different; she had finally met someone just as prickly as she was.

_ “You and me live in different worlds. There's no point lowering yourself down into mine.” _

She had only tried to help the boy, but all she got in return was a splinter in her finger and an earful of harsh words. Picking the painful shard of wood out with her fingernails, Lysithea smoothed over the tiny wound with the flat of her thumb and grumbled as she trudged herself off back to her dorm room. She needed to collect her things from her room and get to class.

_ Just who was Cyril to tell her what world she lived in? The very nerve of that little squirt! He didn’t even thank her for trying to help! What a waste of her free time. _

The girl sighed and shook her hand out, as if the act of shaking would dull the pain or soothe her flaring temper. If she could not get her anger under control soon, her head would start to throb and then there would be no turning back.

_ “Sure, we live in the same places now, but that's not gonna last forever. Don't see how it could, unless I actually turned into your little brother or something.” _

The young student scoffed at the idea. Cooling down was the best thing for it.

_ Cyril? Her little brother? How stupid! Lysithea had had a brother once, but she was sure he would have turned out far nicer than Rhea’s little pet. He didn’t know what she had been through! He might have been better at handiwork than she was, but there wasn’t any way he had suffered through as much as she had... _

Lysithea paused and scrunched up her nose. She had gone from hot to cold in an instant. There would be no migraine this morning, but guilt was similarly unpleasant.

_ That was unkind. She didn’t know what Cyril had been through or how he had ended up at Garreg Mach. All she knew was that he was supposedly an Almyran war orphan that Rhea had taken in, and that he had chosen to be the monastery’s glorified errand boy. And people probably treated him horribly. Lysithea could hide her two Crests and pretend that her hair had always been white, but Cyril? His dark skin, black hair, and orange eyes were as Almyran as they came. It was downright stupid that people put such emphasis on things as insignificant as Crests or physical appearance.  _

A heavy lump formed in her throat, and she gulped it back uncomfortably. She wanted to cry.

_ She and Cyril were the youngest people at the monastery, but they were probably also the most vulnerable. Each had something about themselves that they couldn’t escape. In spite of all of that, though... they were probably the hardest workers at Garreg Mach as well! Lysithea liked the sound of that. _

Drying her eyes on her sleeve, the young student took a deep breath and started walking back to her dorm room again. This time, she did it with a smile creeping up her face.

_ Maybe she and Cyril didn’t live in such different worlds after all. Maybe she could be there for him… like an older sister or something. He  _ _ was _ _ the one to suggest it! _

By the time Lysithea had made it to the Fishing Pond, her temper had died down considerably and it was evident that she had avoided a potential crisis. Working through things by herself typically put her in a better mood, and a better mood meant a lower blood pressure. Being able to successfully cope made Lysithea feel self-sufficient and mature… which quickly gave way to a blissful sense of anticipation once she saw the sumptuous cake Claude was carting out of the back door of the Dining Hall. 

_ That’s right! Leonie’s birthday! Hopefully she’d share a slice of that delicious cake with the rest of the class. What flavour was it? She hoped it would be vanilla. Would Claude - being the idiot that he is - try to get the Professor to slice it with the Sword of the Creator? He probably would. And would Cyril be joining them for class today? If he was, she resolved to be nicer to him… even if he was a bit prickly. After all, she was too. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is what really committed me to writing and posting this fic (which is ironic because it's also the shortest chapter I've written to date). Lysithea is pretty fiery in her early supports, and I wanted to show here how that fire could burn both ways. I won't go into spoiler territory until later chapters, but I will say that her temper does affect her physical health and it frustrates her immensely. I also wanted to illustrate here that though Lysithea will think and say some pretty mean things, she has the empathy and emotional maturity to put together why those that line of thinking may be wrong. Please feel free to let me know what you think!


	2. Cyril: Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyril goes about his typical morning routine, and gets the chance to confide in the only person he trusts absolutely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

Garreg Mach Monastery looked like a smoke-stained fireplace in the mornings. At least, in the morning before the sun rose. While the students and most of the faculty at the monastery were wasting away precious hours sleeping, the gears were already turning to make the famed home of Saint Seiros everything it promised to be. Tables had to be wiped down, furnaces had to be stocked with firewood and lit, pathways had to be swept, and the market grounds had to be cleaned up before the merchants arrived.

By the time Cyril finished his early morning chores, the sun had begun to peek up over the roofs of the Knight’s Quarters in the west. Cyril liked watching the sun rise upon his hard work, and he knew Lady Rhea appreciated it too. She never failed to tell him so when he greeted her every morning with breakfast, and there was no doubt in his mind that she would again today.

_Never mind the Professor and that old sword from the crypt. Cyril had a freshly peeled apple, two crisp slices of wheat toast, some soft, melty butter, a pair of fried eggs, and a nice rasher of bacon for Rhea. And if all that didn’t do the trick for her, then the piping, hot cup of Seiros blend tea would._

Making his way up the stairs to the Archbishop’s private quarters, Cyril noticed one of the guards posted to protect the stairwell eyeing him, if only for a moment. He had gotten used to these looks from Fódlaners a long time ago. It hardly mattered to them that he was practically still a child nor that he was the Archbishop’s ward; no one here trusted Almyrans.

_At least, no one worth listening to. It didn’t matter. Cyril might not have had a place in Fódlan or Almyra, but he had a place with Rhea. That mattered more than anything else to him._

The boy reached the oaken double-doors and announced his entrance with three knocks, a pause, then two more knocks in quick succession.

“Please, come in,” the melodic voice from the other side responded.

_That was his cue._

“Good morning, Lady Rhea,” Cyril said, closing the door behind him. “Did ya sleep okay?”

The Archbishop was stretching herself out in bed when the boy let himself in. Though Rhea was only dressed in a simple nightgown, she still managed to look like one of the beautiful saints that adorned the many tapestries around the monastery. But by the state of her hair and the puffiness of her eyes, Cyril could tell that poor Rhea had only just woken up. 

_He didn’t mind. In fact, it was nice that she let him see her like this. It meant that she trusted him. That she could literally let her hair down around him._

“I did, Cyril,” the Archbishop answered. “I had that lovely dream about my mother again. You know the one.”

Cyril nodded and placed the tray of food gingerly on her lap. Rhea smiled at him and patted the space on the bed beside her. The boy didn’t hesitate to take a seat.

“Thank you for this, Cyril. As usual, it looks lovely,” she chimed. “How did you sleep?”

_Rhea’s voice never failed to soothe him._

“Not too bad,” he replied, “though I probably could’ve woken up earlier to get more done this morning.”

“You do plenty.”

“I could do plenty more.”

Rhea laughed as she expertly transferred one of her eggs onto a slice of toast with her fork. The yolk hardly even jiggled. 

“You really are a blessing, Cyril,” she said warmly. “How have things been during your time with the Golden Deer? You joined them last month, so I’m sure you’ve made some friends among them in the time since.”

“Not really,” the boy confessed. “Claude’s real nosy and keeps going on about me and Almyra, and Hilda’s the same but lazy instead of nosy. Then there’s that weirdo, Ignatz. I can tell he wants to help out, but he’s not real good at anything. And then there’s Lysithea…”

He paused for a slight second.

_The girl with hands like a princess's, hair like snow, skin like cream, and a temper like a dragon's._

“She’s okay,” Cyril concluded.

Rhea noticed the pause and raised a brow. “Just okay?”

“Uh... yeah?” he replied hesitantly. “I can tell she’s trying real hard to be nice to me, but she’s a little bossy.”

“And you enjoy it.”

“W-What?”

“I’ve known you for how long now? There’s no need to be shy, Cyril.”

“Right… I just…”

“You enjoy it. She respects that you have boundaries, but she’s assertive enough to show you that she cares.” The Archbishop paused for a small bite of her egg on toast, continuing only after her mouth was empty. “I think you may have a friend in her.”

_How did she get all of that from such a little pause?_

“I guess.” Cyril shrugged. “But she won’t be around after graduation next year. I don’t really see the point in making a friend that’s only gonna be around for a little bit of time.”

Rhea did not respond.

_Had Cyril said something wrong?_

“Lady Rhea?”

“Cyril,” she replied at last. “May I offer you some advice?”

“Uh… Yeah. Sure, Lady Rhea.”

“Never take the time you have with someone for granted,” Rhea offered, staring down into her breakfast. “Even if it’s only for a short while, the time they’re there can change you. Sometimes for the better.”

Another moment of silence fell between the Archbishop and her ward, but it was hardly as uncomfortable as the first. This was far more mutual than the first.

_She was probably talking about her mother… and about his parents. It made Cyril sad to think about them, but he had Rhea looking out for him now. And Rhea? She didn’t have anyone like that. That must have been hard for her. Grown-ups were allowed to miss their parents too, weren’t they?_

“Okay, Lady Rhea,” the boy said, breaking the silence. “If Lysithea wants to be my friend, then I’ll try to be her friend too.”

Rhea picked her eyes up from her tray as she smiled at Cyril. It was a sadder smile than he was used to seeing from her, but he could tell it was genuine.

_Rhea lived with a lot of sadness that she didn’t share with anyone. Not even Cyril._

“That’s my sweet Cyril,” the Archbishop offered warmly. “If you’d be so kind, would you help me with one of these eggs? I’m afraid I can’t eat them both.”

Cyril smiled back and obliged her, reaching over the tray to drag an egg onto a piece of toast. The delicate yolk burst almost immediately, and the two shared a laugh as the warm morning sun filtered in through the windows.

_Cyril could never take these moments he had with Lady Rhea for granted, but maybe it was time he opened up to other people too. At the very least, he'd give it a try._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhea is not typically portrayed as a sympathetic character, likely because she's pretty guilty of a lot of terrible things. That said, she isn't a wholly good or a wholly bad person. In this chapter, I wanted to explore Rhea's humanity a bit more in her interactions with one of the many people who adore her. Three Houses kind of gave off the impression that Cyril was as loyal to her as he was just because she rescued him, but a couple of his supports hint that their relationship was bit more complex than that of a boy grateful boy and a powerful woman. In short: I wanted to portray the motherly side of Rhea that a lot of the characters in Three Houses kept talking about but of which the game never really showcased. I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	3. Lysithea: Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To meet the challenge of her weekly goals from Professor Byleth, Lysithea spends an afternoon in the library with a good book and kind (albeit smelly) librarian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

There was something comforting about Garreg Mach’s neat little library. It was hardly a fraction of the size of Derdriu’s colossal library back in Alliance territory, but it made the archive at Ordelia Manor seem like a stack of loose papers. And the smell of it was positively delightful. Kind Tomas, the veteran librarian at Garreg Mach, filled all of the lanterns in his little library with scented oils. The faint aroma of lavender, lacquered wood, and old paper made this particular room a favourite for any student who hoped to study in peaceful bliss.

Lysithea was one of these students. Professor Byleth had asked her to brush up on her understanding of Reason and Faith Magic, and the monastery’s library was positively brimming with grimoires on both. Today, she was focusing on Faith Magic, and a recent addition to the library proved to be just what she needed.

_The Saint of Faerghus, Cornelia Arnim. If Lysithea could learn any of the healing or mobility spells that helped Cornelia end the Weeping Plague in Faerghus, she herself might be a famed Gremory in no time flat. Perhaps she’d even get the chance to meet Cornelia someday… if time permitted._

The young student was positively engrossed in her book. Though she knew the basics of simple healing spells well, she read over them all the same just for the sheer bliss of it. The specifics of the Warp Spell were particularly interesting. She committed the incantation to memory, and resolved to try it out once she was done reading. Then came tactical applications for the spell in quarantine settings and on the battlefield. 

_Cornelia answered every question Lysithea had without her ever having to make the trip to Fhirdiad._

Before she knew it, Lysithea had reached the back cover of her book. She closed it and looked around, realising how strained her eyes were. It would take a moment for her to blink the fuzziness out of her vision, but once she did, she noticed something curious. There was a sandwich beside her.

_And a nice one at that! Orange marmalade and brie on a nice, crusty roll._

“Tomas, did you leave this here?” she asked quietly, turning to the librarian.

The kindly old man raised a hand to his ear before shrugging his shoulders and shuffling over to meet the student where she was sitting. The smell of his cologne was overpowering, but not entirely unpleasant. Bergamot and cedarwood. 

_Poor Tomas probably wore all that cologne to cover up the scent of aging, but Lysithea knew better than to ask. The old librarian was kind to everyone, especially library regulars like Lysithea. There was something... familiar about his smell, though. She couldn’t quite put her finger… or nose on it. It must have been old person smell._

“I’m sorry, child,” came Tomas politely, “Could you repeat that for me?”

“Certainly,” Lysithea replied. “I was just asking if you left your lunch here. It looks to be a sandwich of some sort.”

“Oh, no,” the librarian chuckled. “I’m afraid my sandwich days are behind me now. Soft teeth.”

He gestured to his mouth and smiled.

_What an embarrassing mistake!_

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Lysithea apologised.

“There’s no need, child,” Tomas replied, “In any event, this sandwich is yours.”

“Mine?” she asked.

“Yes. Young Cyril came asking after you, but I told him you were studying diligently and weren’t to be disturbed.”

“Cyril?”

“Indeed. I believe he wanted to invite you to have lunch with him and a few of your other classmates, but settled for bringing it to you instead.”

_That was sweet of him. Unexpected, but sweet all the same. And how did he know she had a sweet tooth?_

“Thank you, Tomas,” Lysithea replied earnestly. “I’ll have to find Cyril to thank him properly for this later.”

Tomas smiled again and nodded, and Lysithea reached for her sandwich to take a bite, before…

_Oh, dear. Poor Tomas must have been so self-conscious of that smell, but it was overpowering even through his cologne. Lysithea would have to be clever and polite in equal measures to get through this without embarrassing him._

“Oh, Tomas,” she added, putting her sandwich down. “This book was a wonderful read. Did Lady Cornelia ever write a follow-up?”

“Not that I’m aware, child,” answered the librarian, unaware of her diversion.

“Oh… that’s a shame,” she replied disappointedly. “It’s been 5 years since she wrote this.”

_It really was a shame. There was a lot she still had to learn about Faith Magic, and Cornelia was probably the best cleric in Fódlan._

“Oh, I wouldn’t fret, little one,” Tomas responded. “Those who make great things happen seldom rest on their laurels. I’m sure Lady Cornelia has many more wonderful things in store for Fódlan.”

“I agree,” Lysithea came wholeheartedly. “And I don’t intend to rest on mine either. I may have finished her book, but I’m far from mastering her craft. Tomas, I hope you’ll excuse me, but I’m going to take my lunch to the training yard. I want to start practicing as soon as possible.”

“Oh? What’s the rush?” asked the librarian.

“It’s Cyril. I want to thank him by making his life a little easier,” Lysithea replied. “Until he masters his flying lessons, he’s going to keep being left behind on the battlefield. If I can master the Warp Spell, I can help him get out of danger or into position whenever he needs it next.”

“That’s the spirit!” the kind old man agreed. “One good deed deserves another.”

“Thank you again, Tomas,” Lysithea said cheerfully. “For the book and the encouragement. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!”

“And you, child,” he replied, wishing her farewell with a wave. “Best of luck in Gronder next week!”

_In spite of the unfortunate smell, Tomas really was a kind, old gentleman. It was a shame she had never seen him around in Ordelia territory, but that hardly mattered now. House Ordelia had been the ones to recommend him for the librarian position, and it seemed appropriate that he might come to visit from time to time when he passed through. In the meantime, however, Lysithea had a marmalade sandwich to devour and a new skill to test out. If she could get the Warp Spell down pat, she could repay Cyril by sending him as many sandwiches as he’d like from anywhere in the monastery!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I really wanted to flesh out another character we weren't given a lot of exposure to in Three Houses. In the game, you'll find that a lot of people in Garreg Mach speak very well of Tomas. I wanted to explore this a bit more before his character's "departure" early on in the game, especially in his interactions with a student of the Officer's Academy. This chapter is positively brimming with foreshadowing, and it was probably my favourite chapter to write thus far. Please let me know what you think of sweet, old Tomas if you liked this!


	4. Cyril: Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Year 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though utterly dependable and fiercely self-reliant as a groundskeeper, Cyril finds himself in constant need of rescue as a classroom attendee at the Officer's Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

There was something unnerving about Garreg Mach’s cramped, little lecture halls. Though all eyes were supposed to be facing forward, one could never quite shake the feeling that others were looking over one’s shoulder. Two to three people occupied each table and shared a bench facing the chalkboard. If one was early enough, they could find a seat in the back, away from the prying eyes of their classmates. And if not… the front row was almost always available.

Though Cyril was punctual to a fault when it came time to do his chores around the monastery, those same chores made him regularly late for Professor Byleth’s lectures. This would have meant certain destruction if Cyril had to sit in the front with someone like Lorenz, Leonie, or Flayn. If he had to sit next to Flayn, Seteth would piece together his secret by the end of the week. Fortunately for the young groundskeeper, however, he had someone looking out for him. 

_He was probably going to have to get her another candied apple today after class._

Cyril’s “guardian angel” was Lysithea. She had rescued him from one of Seteth’s missives last month, and he knew she had done so knowing that he could not read it. It had been practically plastered all over the poor boy when she found him in the Dining Hall, and he asked her to keep his secret between the two of them. Instead of laughing at Cyril or questioning his usefulness to the monastery, though, Lysithea smiled and offered to read to him whenever he needed it. Class was when he needed it the most, and so they agreed to sit next to each other for the rest of the year.

_And what a year it had been!_

“Sorry I’m late, Professor!” Cyril apologised as he pushed the door shut behind him. “Shamir and the rest of the Knights are out investigating that Remire place. I’ve been picking up her duties around here for her, but I know I shouldn’t be late!”

“That’s fine,” the Professor replied calmly. Byleth’s voice almost always sounded monotone, so it was difficult to tell whether the Professor was truly angry or not. “Take a seat next to Lysithea and look on with her at page two-hundred and thirty-two of the tactics primer.”

_Cyril didn’t own any books of his own, so it was real nice of Lysithea to ask the Professor if he could share hers. It gave everyone the impression that he was just poor and not illiterate to boot._

The boy nodded and made his way past the other members of the Golden Deer. The room was positively packed these days, mostly with transfers from the other two Houses. Cyril and Raphael even spent an afternoon moving tables from the storage room to the Golden Deer lecture hall to accomodate them all. Petra, Ignatz, and Ashe all smiled at him as he walked by them, but he could tell without looking that Lorenz was annoyed by the interruption.

“Sorry,” Cyril whispered to Lysithea as he sat down beside her. “What’d I miss?”

“We’re learning evacuation procedures today,” the girl replied quietly, pointing to the illustration in her tactics primer. “In case we need to get civilians out of a warzone.”

_That would be important for the mission this month. Something was going on in Remire, and they’d probably have to move a bunch of village folk to safety in order to investigate it._

Byleth resumed the lecture, putting emphasis on maintaining formation to project order. Evacuations promised to be hectic, and it was important to let the crowd know that security forces in the area were well-organised to protect them. 

_Cyril knew a thing or two about evacuating from a warzone. Maybe he could lecture the class about what it was like from a frightened civilian’s perspective._

Suddenly, something tapped rudely against Cyril’s shoulder.

“Psst,” a voice from behind came quietly. “Hey! Psst! Can you pass this note forward without being seen?”

Cyril turned slightly as to not attract suspicion. It was Sylvain. 

“No,” the boy replied.

“Pleeeease,” Sylvain begged quietly. “C’mon, little buddy. It’s for Hilda.”

“No,” Cyril doubled down. “Go up there and give it to her yourself after class if it means that much to ya.”

“But it’s more exciting when there’s danger involved!” Syvain insisted. “Ladies love a bit of intrigue.”

“I said no,” the younger boy growled. “You’re being stupid.”

Before Sylvain could offer another protest, Lysithea turned and scowled at him.

“Leave Cyril alone,” she demanded quietly. “Some people are here to learn.”

“Exactly!” Sylvain chimed in, undeterred. “And right now, you two have a chance to brush up on your stealth skills. Come on, think of it as a covert mission! Cyril? Lysithea? I’m sure one or even both of you kiddos would love to step up and take that chance?”

_‘Kiddos’? Sylvain wasn’t very good at choosing his words, and this was not going to end well._

Cyril spared his friend a glance, but she was surprisingly cool. Accepting Sylvain’s note and waving him off, Lysithea turned back around and sat up straight in her seat. Cyril thought to ask her if she was all right or may even have tried to stop her from passing the note forward, but Lysithea shot him a knowing look before clearing her throat loudly and raising her hand.

“Pardon me, Professor,” the girl interrupted, “but I have something from one of my classmates that I’d like to present to the class.”

_Sylvain should have waited until class to deliver the note to Hilda himself._

Byleth turned from the chalkboard and acknowledged Lysithea, while Cyril noted that Sylvain had sunk to the bottom of his chair like an anchor cut loose from its chain. 

“Go ahead,” the Professor said simply. “Make it quick.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Lysithea replied, standing up. “Sweet Hilda…”

The girl sitting next to Claude snapped to attention upon hearing her name.

“I’d like you to know the truth about my recent transfer,” Lysithea continued to read, clearly unimpressed by Sylvain’s boorish attempts at romance. “The truth is: I transferred to the Golden Deer House for you, my Golden Dear.” 

The entire room burst out into uproarious laughter at that, with even Hilda herself joining in. Sylvain was dead to rights, and Ashe, sitting beside him, had to fight back tears to help his friend up from the ground.

“Dedue and Prince Dimitri will understand,” Lysithea read, commanding the class’s laughter as if she were the conductor of some vast orchestra, “that my lonely heart is simply not able to go on without-”

“That’s enough,” Byleth interrupted mercifully. Many in the room were still cackling, wheezing, or slapping their hands on their tables after Byleth had spoken, but the Professor silenced them by smacking the class copy of the tactics primer loudly against the chalkboard. “Lysithea, please destroy that letter before anymore gets read. Sylvain, I’ll see you after class.” The Professor sighed. “No more interruptions now. We need to get through this chapter before the bell.”

Lysithea did as she was told, using a plume of Fire Magic to reduce Sylvain’s note to ash in her hand. When she sat down, Cyril noticed the look of pure contentment in his friend’s eyes.

_He hadn’t seen anyone look so satisfied before in his life. Why, Cyril himself had never been so satisfied. But this was different. Sylvain might have gotten what he deserved, but it was the greater picture that got Cyril so excited. Whether it was from one of Seteth’s requests or Sylvain’s stupidity, Lysithea would smile like that whenever she rescued him. And she had a really nice smile… maybe even as nice as Lady Rhea’s._

“And that concludes the chapter on tactical evacuations,” Byleth concluded, snapping the primer shut as the afternoon bell began to toll. “Your weekly goals are the same as they were last week. Please refer to the corkboard outside if you’re unfamiliar with them. Class dismissed.”

As the students (barring Sylvain) began to file out of the lecture hall, Cyril scooped Lysithea’s books up and carried them for her as the two walked out of the room together. She was still looking quite pleased with herself.

“Thanks for that,” Cyril said, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t think he was going to quit.”

“He wasn’t,” Lysithea replied quickly. “And he wasn’t going to learn anything either if someone didn’t step up to teach him.”

“Well, I’m sure he learned something from that,” chuckled the boy as they finally made it through the crowd and into the courtyard. “But seriously, Lysithea: I’m real grateful that you’re always looking out for me.”

“Of course, Cyril,” she replied, turning on a heel to face him. “And I’m grateful to have you looking out for me too. Now why don’t we head over to the Dining Hall and look out for something nice to eat!”

Cyril tucked the stack of books under his arm and nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, let’s go! I never thought laughing so hard could be such hungry work!”

“That’s because you didn’t eat lunch before you came to class,” Lysithea correctly pointed out, giggling as she turned to bolt for the Dining Hall. “You’re never going to get taller than me if you don’t eat!”

“Haha, hey! No fair! You’re a year older than me!” Cyril laughed as he chased after her.

_Lady Rhea was right; having friends was nice, and having a best friend was nicer. Especially a best friend who covered all of his weaknesses, and let him cover all of hers back. Still… some part of him knew their time together was running out. That was tough to accept, but he promised to try. And who knew? It wasn’t like graduation meant they’d never see each other again. Cyril would keep working hard for Lady Rhea, and maybe she’d make him a knight someday. Then he’d be able to visit Lysithea from time to time, and they could keep being friends. Now there was something to get excited for!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I beat around the around the bush for having these two interact properly, but I swear it was intentional. Lysithea and Cyril's support conversations don't actually establish them as proper friends until their B-Support, and I think that's consistent with the kind of person character Three Houses portrays him to be. I wanted this chapter to illustrate what Cyril's blossoming idea of friendship looks like, show him demonstrating reciprocity the only way he knows how, and have him bond Lysithea over their mutual annoyance with other people's shenanigans. This is also important in establishing Lysithea as the protecting figure she hoped to be for Cyril back in the first chapter, and I wanted to showcase just how much that support means to Cyril (whose only advocates before were a mercenary and the head of a major religious organisation). As always, comments and feedback are much appreciated!


	5. Lysithea: Ethereal Moon, Imperial Year 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the outrage of a revelation becomes too painful to bear, Lysithea is given a moment's respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

The last month of the calendar year was usually also the coldest and the darkest month as well. Though the winter solstice would descend upon Garreg Mach in the coming weeks, the chill was already well upon the area. Windows frosted over, snow piled high on unshoveled roads and pathways, and every hearth and stove in the monastery was ignited to keep its many residents warm. And in no other building at the monastery was the warmth more appreciated than in its Student Dormitory blocks.

It had been a week since the Remire Calamity, and Lysithea had not left her room since coming back. Bernadetta kindly volunteered to drop off Lysithea’s coursework everyday, Manuela made daily housecalls, and Cyril dutifully brought his friend her meals every morning, noon, and night. The revelation of what transpired in Remire had triggered the worst series of migraines Lysithea could ever remember enduring. Auras and resolutions faded into one another, and she saw little in the way of recovery time.

_This was the worst. It was her stupid blood and what those monsters did to it. But they had resurfaced. She’d find them someday. After she made sure her parents were safe, she’d find those monsters and make sure they were never able to do this to anyone else ever again._

There came a knock at the door, and Lysithea groaned to signal that it was unlocked. It was Cyril again. He was carrying a tray of clear broth, a pitcher of water, and a tiny burlap bag wrapped up with some twine.

“On the desk...” the girl murmured, burying her face in her pillow. It was clear that she had just gotten through the worst of another painful headache. “Ugh… I hope you’re doing better than I am.”

“Yeah,” Cyril answered, setting the tray down and putting the pitcher aside, “but I hate seeing ya like this.”

“Then go,” she snapped, her voice muffled by the pillow. “No one’s keeping you here!”

“Hey, I’m not leaving ya,” he replied sharply. “Not while you’re like this. Not while you’re here.”

_She had forgotten that Cyril could be prickly too, though he was being significantly kinder than she was._

“I know,” Lysithea responded, pulling her face out of her pillow and offering Cyril a weak smile. Her skin was paler than it usually was and dark circles had formed under her eyes. She had not had a decent night’s sleep since leaving for Remire. “You’re always looking out for me.”

“You’re the one who started it,” Cyril teased, smiling back. He turned his attention to the basin of water on the floor beside her bed and then at the stack of towelettes on the bedside table. Cyril took one of them, and soaked it in the water. As he wrung it out, he sighed. “Head still feelin’ hot today?”

_Like a furnace._

Lysithea nodded and Cyril folded the towelette so he could place it neatly on her forehead. 

_He had rough hands for someone so young, but he could be very gentle with them when he wanted to be. Lysithea still hadn’t told him why she got like this yet. He told her his secret more than a month ago, but she hadn’t offered him the same courtesy. Maybe it was time for some sort of explanation._

“Hey, Cyril?” she asked.

“Hey, Lysithea,” he answered.

She smiled. “I have to tell you something, but you must promise not to tell another living soul.”

Cyril raised a brow and looked at her queerly.

“It’s… about what’s going on with me,” Lysithea sighed. “Though I need to hear you say that you won’t tell anyone about it before I say anything more.”

“What happened?” Cyril demanded, his voice cracking with worry. “Did the Death Knight do this to ya when we ran into him again? I saw him come in from the west, but I couldn’t get to ya in time to-”

“No,” she interrupted, closing her eyes and smiling. “That creepy guy has everyone else scared, but he couldn’t touch me even if he wanted to.”

“Yeah…” the boy replied with a gulp. “The Professor says you’re our answer to him.”

Now Lysithea was grinning. She motioned to the shelf above her bed, and she laughed to see his jaw drop.

“Y-Ya stole one of his horns?!” Cyril stammered.

“A trophy,” Lysithea replied smugly. “I’m going to get the whole helmet next time. You know that’s probably just Professor Jeritza under there, right?”

“I know,” the boy replied somberly. “I just don’t get why he was working with Tomas.”

Any hint of levity in the room suddenly died with that name. Lysithea scowled so hard she could feel it deep in her skull. 

_Tomas. Solon. Whoever he was. Lysithea didn’t want to hear that horrid old man’s name ever again. She knew he stank! That smell… it wasn’t old person at all; it was formaldehyde, and he reeked of it underneath all of that cologne. She hadn’t met anyone who smelled that strongly of it since…_

“I change my mind,” Lysithea snapped brusquely, turning away from Cyril to lie on her side. “I don’t have anything to say after all. Not to you. Not today.”

Silence followed, and the girl’s furious outrage slowly dissolved into creeping remorse. Lysithea wanted to turn back and apologise, but pride and discomfort forced her to stay as she was for fear of seeing the hurt she had inflicted on her friend. 

“Can we talk about something else instead?” Cyril asked, breaking the silence. 

_He wasn’t upset or sad or even a little put off by her snapping at him the way she did?_

The boy continued, “How ‘bout Raphael?”

“Raphael?” Lysithea asked, perplexed. “What about him?”

“Ya didn’t hear yet?” Cyril sounded amused now. “Claude thought he heard Raphael shouting at some girl the other day.”

Her interest piqued, Lysithea rolled over in her bed to face the boy sitting across from her. “That isn’t true! Raphael doesn’t even shout at the enemy!”

“Haha, I know!” her friend laughed. “It’s weird, right?”

“The weirdest!” she agreed. “He’s too nice to shout at anyone in the Academy.”

“That’s the thing!” Cyril remarked. “Turns out he wasn’t shouting at that girl; he was teaching her how to do a battle cry.”

Lysithea raised a brow. “No way! Who enrolls at the Officer’s Academy without knowing how to shout for battle?”

“No one,” Cyril said, rolling his eyes. “It was Flayn.”

“Oh wow, that makes sense,” the girl scoffed. “Those two are both weirdly nice.”

“Yeah, I thought so too when I first met them!”

Lysithea was laughing now, and Cyril quickly joined her. 

“Haha… Hey, Cyril: you know who else is weird?”

“Haha, who? Lorenz?”

“Yes, exactly! He’s a disaster with women, he talks down to everyone, and he makes Claude seem like a reasonable person to lead the Alliance someday.”

“And who chooses to cut their hair like that?!”

“He looks like a purple chamberpot!”

The two adolescents exploded into fits of laughter that carried on for far longer than either of them cared to imagine, only pausing to catch their breath when one of them had another thing to say about one of their classmates. First came the Golden Deer and their Professor, then the Black Eagles. By the time Lysithea and Cyril made it halfway through the Blue Lions, her face had turned as pink as her pupils and her friend was tearing up.

“Okay…” she gasped, now completely out of breath. “No more… that’s enough for now...”

“Yeah…” Cyril agreed, getting up from his chair and wiping the tears from his eyes with the side of his hand. “I think… I think I should crack a window. Phew, I don’t think I ever laughed for that long.”

“I know I haven’t...” Lysithea replied, taking a deep breath as she sat up on her bed. She had kicked her sheets to the bottom of the bed frame while laughing earlier. “Hey, Cyril?”

“Hey, Lysithea,” he answered, turning from the windowsill.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, pulling the tray Cyril had brought earlier onto her lap and dipping her spoon into the bowl of clear broth. “I needed this.”

“The soup?” Cyril asked, sitting back down as she supped. “Isn’t it real cold now, though?”

“No! Well... yes it is cold,” Lysithea answered, “but no, I didn’t mean the soup. I meant to thank you for cheering me up. I needed a reason to smile and laugh again. One that didn’t involve Claude poking fun of me for being childish.”

“Claude’s the kid; he doesn’t act half as mature as you do and I don’t think he ever will,” retorted the boy. “In any case, I figured what ya were trying to say was that your head starts to hurt when ya get real mad, so I wanted to make you feel the opposite. Besides, it’s nice to see ya smile.”

Lysithea felt her face getting warm again, so she quickly took her bowl of cold broth in both hands and took a deep gulp in an attempt to douse herself. It was not anger nor laughter that warmed her to the marrow this time; this time, it was embarrassment.

_The soup dribbling down her chin probably didn’t help, but she had fatigue and hunger as an excuse. It was a very clever strategy, but one that wouldn’t last. She’d have to change the subject as quickly as possible to keep herself from getting too flustered while doing her best to keep Cyril in the dark._

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Lysithea announced, wiping her mouth on her wrist. “Did you hear about Sylvain?”

Cyril groaned, “Hear ‘bout what? His girl-problems, his Felix-problems, or how he’s scared of you now?”

“The former,” the young student answered. “Apparently, Sylvain and Ingrid were walking together the other week when he spotted another girl who caught his fancy. You know as well as I do how little Sylvain actually considers his actions, so when he asked that other girl to go to the White Heron Ball with him right in front of Ingrid, they both slapped him!”

“I’m not surprised,” replied the boy, unimpressed. “That sounds like Sylvain, all right. People have been making a big deal outta the White Heron Ball since before Lady Rhea ever brought me here, so it makes sense that Ingrid and that other girl would get mad at him for trying to play with their feelings.”

“You’re very perceptive, Cyril,” Lysithea responded. “What do you think of the White Heron Ball? You’ve been here longer than most others, after all. I’m sure you’ve been to more balls than most of the students here.”

“Nope, and I don’t think much of it either,” Cyril responded. “I’ve never been to the Ball before. At least, not as one of the guests. I’ve always either been too little or too busy to go, and I never had to talk to anyone at the Academy before I joined the Golden Deer this year. People don’t look too kindly on Almyrans, ya know?”

_That made a depressing amount of sense. Lysithea hadn’t put the pieces together until just now, but she was probably one of his first real friends. And Cyril was… he was probably the best friend she ever had. Maybe… just maybe…_

“Say, Cyril,” Lysithea began, trying her best not to allow her cheeks to flush out again. The paleness of her skin made that impossible. “Balls aren’t really my thing either. I was planning on just seeing how elegantly the others could dance for a while before slipping out early. If I did, would you… want to meet up with me outside? I could find something to read to you.”

“That’s no good,” Cyril replied, shaking his head decisively.

_Lysithea felt her heart sink._

“You’ll strain your eyes if you try to read in the dark,” the boy continued. “We could just look up at the sky that night if you’d like. Lady Rhea taught me the names of some of the stars, and I think a real important one’s supposed to disappear on the night of the Ball. We could watch it go together.”

_And just like that, Lysithea’s stomach was full of butterflies again. Getting away from the Ball was her plan all along. Why was she feeling so giddy all of a sudden?_

“It’s a deal!” she said confidently, holding her hand out for Cyril to shake. “By the Cathedral Bridge at the eighth bell toll. Does that work for you?”

_Why was she trying to shake his hand? She wasn’t selling him a side of beef!_

“Okay,” Cyril replied, delicately gripping Lysithea’s hand and giving it a shake. “Deal! I’ll get all my chores done early that night and ask someone else to cover for me on refreshments.” 

_He had rough hands for someone so young, but he could be very gentle with them when he wanted to be._

“There are going to be a lot of noble folks there anyway,” he concluded. “And most of them don’t like being served by an Almyran. You’re probably doing them a favour.”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Lysithea replied firmly, overcoming her jitters. “I’ll be depriving them of one of the only people worth talking to here.”

“You don’t have to lay it on thick. I know I’m not so friendly.” Cyril rubbed the back of his head. “Anyway… I think I’ve stuck around for too long. I need to go back and water the horses before Hilda tries to get someone else to do it for her.”

“Oh, um… right!” the girl replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Thanks again for lunch. If you see the Professor, could you say that I’ll be back in class tomorrow?”

“Really?” the boy asked, his voice cracking slightly. “What about your head?”

“I’ll be fine,” she responded with a nod. “If we’re really looking out for each other, you can keep me smiling while I handle the books. The two of us are really quite the team, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess we really are,” Cyril replied with an unmistakable tint of relief in his voice. “Be seeing ya, Lysithea.”

The boy turned to leave, and Lysithea sighed. Her head was feeling several sizes smaller than it had earlier that morning, but she had put on a brave front for her friend. There was still a faint throbbing in her skull that would likely last the rest of the day, and she was unsure of whether the worst of it was truly behind her.

“Oh, and before I forget!” Cyril called, looking back from the doorknob. “The little bag is full of pomegranate seeds from the Greenhouse. Alois got me some chocolate from the Empire, so I melted it down and dipped them all in it to make a new kind of snack.”

Lysithea quickly forgot the aching in her head when she heard the word “chocolate”, and quickly opened the bag to fish out as many of the seeds as she could pinch between her finger and thumb. Popping them into her mouth, her head was now swimming.

“They’re really good!” she exclaimed.

Cyril seemed content with that and waved her goodbye before closing the door behind him. Lysithea popped another pinch of chocolate-covered seeds into her mouth and cradled her cheeks in sheer delight.

_It was a crime that so few people truly appreciated Cyril, but he was everything she could have ever wanted in a friend. He never treated her like a child, respected her boundaries, made her laugh, rose up to meet the few things she couldn’t master easily on her own, and was as sweet as the wonderful treats he prepared for her. And in return, she… had gotten away with not telling him anything about her past and how it impacted both her present and future. She had never felt guilty about keeping this secret from any of her other friends before, so why now? Was it truly just because he confided in her earlier, or… did she have a crush?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of follows up on the first Lysithea-chapter by briefly going into the symptoms and triggers of Lysithea's migraines. If you know anything about her personal history, you probably know the implications her past has on her future. I wanted to expand on this by making the ramifications of Lysithea's past something she has to struggle with on a daily basis, demonstrating how hard this poor girl works to try to keep things together. I also wanted to continue to deepen her reciprocal bond with Cyril in a way that felt natural for both of them. Lysithea isn't the kind of person to need rescuing from anyone but herself, so this chapter presents a rare situation in which Cyril is able to temporarily pull Lysithea out of harm's way. I also want to make it plain that Lysithea's symptoms aren't cured by the "power of friendship" in this chapter; they're alleviated by it. Basically, having a good laugh and bonding with someone special is Tylenol instead of the polio vaccine. The poor thing's head is still going to hurt for a while after this encounter, but I promise she'll feel better soon! As usual, I always appreciate your comments and feedback!


	6. Cyril: Ethereal Moon, Imperial Year 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyril must run a gauntlet to fulfill a promise to Lysithea, and an oath before an unexpected benefactor is made that will span the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

The last month of the calendar year was usually also the clearest and the brightest as well for those residing within the bulwarks of the Central Church. Though winter had fallen upon the rest of Fódlan, one might have been forgiven for mistaking the season at Garreg Mach Monastery for autumn or even early spring. Each year at the end of the Ethereal Moon, the Officer’s Academy would organise a grand ball to celebrate the anniversary of the monastery’s completion. This entailed no small degree of preparation.

During the week leading up to the 995th Anniversary Celebration, Garreg Mach was abuzz with workers, groundskeepers, artisans, and decorators. Snow and ice had been utterly scoured from every corner of the monastery grounds, the many tables in its Reception Hall had been moved to make way for the dancefloor, and Captain Jeralt and Professor Byleth had recruited a number of trusted mercenaries to supplement the Knights of Seiros and local security forces so that the students at the Officer’s Academy could enjoy the ball in peace. To all those who banded together to make this magical night possible, the eve of the Ball itself could not have come fast enough.

_It was hard work he had done this week. Hard, but good. And now he was done. Lady Rhea said that the toils of the honest and the upright were the Goddess’s delight, and that the work of those cherished souls bathed all of Fódlan in Her divine blessing. Cyril tried his best to remember that passage when his work got tough, but he felt his body needed a bath more than his soul after all the toiling he did._

Returning to his personal quarters from the bathing chambers, Cyril looked down at his choices of evening attire. The first was the acolyte’s livery he normally wore: a loose-fitting tunic and shorts with a hemp belt and turquoise sash. The second was the Wyvern Rider’s uniform he wore into battle sans the armour, which amounted to a thick, green gambeson and a pair of tight riding breeches. And the third was what he was currently wearing: a towel wrapped high above his chest.

_At least the uniform was a change of pace. Maybe Cyril wouldn’t look too out of place when he made his way around the reception hall full of students in their nice evening wear. Maybe the people that did see him would mistake him for one of Jeralt’s mercenary friends and leave him alone. A boy could hope._

Cyril put his smallclothes on and began squeezing his feet into the tiny legs of the very tight breeches. He hated these things. Though he had gone up nearly three shoe sizes this year, he was hardly any taller than he was during the last White Heron Ball. 

_Puberty was taking its time with him._

Suddenly, there came a knock at the door. Cyril had only gotten one leg into his breeches, so he had to hop awkwardly on his unclothed leg towards the door to get a look at his visitor through the peephole.

_Left? Nothing. Right? Nothing. Down the hall? Nothing. Up? What was he expecting? There was no one there._

Cyril took a risk and cracked the door open just enough to peek his head through.

_Left? Nothing. Right? Nothing. Down the… Down!_

On the ground in front of Cyril’s door was something wrapped up in brown butcher’s paper and yellow twine. The boy used his free foot to drag it inside before quickly slamming the door shut and inspecting the strange delivery. There was no card, tag, nor any kind of writing on or attached to the package, but Cyril quickly pieced together who it was from by the signature green fletching of the arrow tucked into the twine.

_Shamir had left him something! Was this for covering her duties last month?_

The boy tore into the butcher’s paper, and what he saw inside dazzled him. The package contained a crisply-pressed jacket and slacks of fine black cotton, accentuated with finely-tailored trimmings and epaulettes of gold silk. Cyril had to look hard to find the seams on this uniform, and beneath the jacket and slacks were a pair of inky-black boots so expertly polished that he could see his face in them.

_This was something he’d be proud to be buried in._

Cyril kicked off the uncomfortable breeches and quickly slipped into his new clothes. His master-at-arms was well-known for her incredibly sharp eye, but even Cyril himself was surprised by how well Shamir had surmised his measurements.

_She even got his boot size right! Shamir was incredible. It was a shame she hadn’t stuck around to see him now, but he’d thank her personally when he ran into her next._

Now cleanly bathed and sharply dressed, Cyril left his little room in the servants’ ward and hurried off into the night towards the monastery’s Reception Hall. A few of the students he passed by doubletook when they saw him, and he was unsure if it was for the usual reason or whether it was his new attire.

_Like he cared what they thought. Cyril hadn’t gotten a chance to see himself in the mirror because his room didn’t have one, but he was sure the clothes Shamir got him suited him just fine. It didn’t really matter if they didn’t anyway; he had a promise to keep and only a few minutes to make it to the Cathedral Bridge on time to keep it._

The walkway on the eastside of the monastery was the quickest route to where Cyril was headed, and the boy encountered more staring students the closer he got. He was getting self-conscious now. He had never been stared at by this many people in so short a span of time. As soon as he cleared the densest of the crowds, Cyril had made his way to the eastern terrace overlooking the Cathedral. There was just one problem.

_Was that Hubert with a girl? Cyril was sure she wasn’t Edelgard; her hair was the wrong colour and he seemed real mad with her. Wait, it was that Monica girl! She must have stepped on Edelgard’s feet during the dance._

Hubert caught sight of Cyril and stopped talking to glare at him. Cyril glared back just as fiercely, but the frightening young nobleman’s subsequent laugh was enough to send the boy in the opposite direction.

_Poor Monica. It was probably an honest mistake, but Hubert was as protective of Edelgard as he was scary. Hopefully, he wasn’t going to toss Monica over the edge of the terrace. For now, though, Cyril had to focus on getting to the Bridge fast. The bell would toll soon, so he’d just have to cut through the Reception Hall... where the ball was being held._

Pushing his way through crowds of students, Cyril made it inside the reception hall in time to see Claude take Professor Byleth by the hand and waltz onto the dancefloor. The other House Leaders had dance partners too, and the boy even managed to make out Flayn dancing with her older brother.

_That much made sense. Seteth would probably string anyone who made a move on Flayn upside-down by their toes._

“Cyril!” a girl’s voice came from nearby in the crowd. It was far too bubbly to have been Lysithea’s. “Oh. My. Gosh! You look so handsome! Would you-”

“Not right now, Hilda,” the boy refused, “I don’t have time to get ya a drink or anything.”

“Uh, rude!” Hilda replied. “I wanted to ask you for a dance. Claude’s up there with the Professor, Marianne’s impossible to peel off the wall, and I just can’t find any of the other people I hoped to dance with tonight. What do you say?”

“Not right now, Hilda,” he doubled down, squeezing past her through the crowd. “I got somewhere I gotta be!”

“Huh, you mean- Oh, I get it!” Hilda chirped teasingly. “You want to dance with someone else!”

“I don’t wanna dance at all,” Cyril insisted, unable to get any farther. “I just need to get to the other side of this room and fast. Why don’t ya go find Sylvain instead of bothering me?”

“Because, just this once, I’m going to help you,” the young woman giggled, taking the boy gently by the wrist. 

“W-Wha-?” Before Cyril had time to process what happened, Hilda had yanked him cleanly from the clustered crowd of students and began spiriting him across the dancefloor by his arm. Despite her squeaky voice and how much she liked to slack off, Hilda was surprisingly strong. “S-Slow down, Hilda! I-”

_Something terrible sounded out. It was the bell tower singing its hourly prelude._

“I mean, nevermind!” Cyril yelped, quickly correcting himself. “Hurry up! Please!”

The young woman giggled as she picked up into a sprint, with Cyril now running alongside her.

_Now the bell was tolling one…_

As they approached the other side of the reception hall, Cyril noticed a wall of students blocking the back entrance of the massive room. He looked to Hilda who was now wearing a devilish smirk.

_Two…_

“Okay, Cyril! This is you!” she exclaimed, taking the boy’s wrist in both hands now and spinning him in a circle around her.

_Three..._

Terrified students scrambled to part down the middle of their formation as Cyril was flung towards them. While he whizzed past the ball-goers, he thought he heard Claude whoop in approval. By the time he caught his footing, he felt his heart beating in his throat. Claude had slied his way into Hilda’s arms in the meanwhile, smirking before dipping her low enough to look the bewildered young boy in the eye from upside-down.

“Have fun, Cyril~!”

_Four… Five…_

As Cyril scrambled to leave the room, a collective gasp ignited the air behind. From a brief glimpse behind his shoulder, the boy saw how Claude and Hilda had replicated Cyril’s ejection from the dancefloor in a whirling “dance” punctuated by bouts of hysterical laughter.

_Six… Seven…_

Cyril made it to the last door by the end of the seventh toll, pulling it open as quickly as he could muster. The sweat beads on his brow felt like ice as the cold outside air rushed in to greet him. Breathing hard and heavy now, he stepped out onto the cobblestone floor that lined the moon-drenched bridge to the Cathedral.

_Eight!_

“Uh… Hey, Cyril,” came the puzzled voice of a girl.

“Hey, Lysithea,” gasped the boy, smiling as he turned to face his friend.

Lysithea smirked as she stepped up to give him a proper inspection. 

_Now that he was here, Cyril realised that he hadn’t really processed why he had chosen to get dressed up in the first place. He hung out with Lysithea all the time. The ball wasn’t all that special to him, and he’d have probably made it there sooner if he just slipped into his everyday clothes._

“Well, I must say that you dressed for the occasion,” she said, impressed. “Where did you...?”

“Shamir,” Cyril answered preemptively, “or at least I think it was Shamir. Didn’t see her, but didn’t need to. She’s real up front with criticism and praise and advice and stuff, but she isn’t really the type of person to give ya something and stick around to say a nice thing to go with it.”

“I’ve heard as much from Catherine. It seems she and you are the only people at Garreg Mach who really know Shamir,” replied Lysithea, curiously reaching for his shoulder before reeling her hand back. “Oh, um, may I?”

Cyril nodded, and Lysithea wasted no time in gliding her thumb against the braided edge of his epaulette. Humming in approval, the girl gently pinched the fabric of his shirt before offering him a decisive nod.

“This is very fine material,” she added. “And so stylish too. If it were up to me, this would be the evening wear for everyone at the Officer’s Academy.” Her brow knitted when she saw his forehead. “But you’re all sweaty! Here: hold still, will you?”

Without a moment’s hesitation this time, Lysithea quickly produced a handkerchief from a pocket in her dress and began dabbing the sweat from Cyril’s face. The boy instinctively squirmed a bit in surprise, which prompted a huff from his finicky friend.

“Your sweat is going to soil your nice collar if you don’t hold still and let me get it,” she snapped, gently placing a hand on his cheek to hold him steady. “There. Stay like that. How did you get this sweaty, anyway?”

_It was hard to think of what to say with her hand on his face like this. Lysithea might have had a temper like a dragon’s, but she still had hands like a princess’s._

“I ran,” he croaked.

“You ran?” she repeated with a raised brow, still intently focused on cleaning him up in the dim light of a nearby lantern. “But you always leave enough time to never have to hurry.”

“I’d have gotten here sooner if I didn’t run into Hubert,” Cyril explained, rolling his eyes, “and later if I didn’t run into Hilda.”

“Hilda?”

“Yeah. She kinda threw me.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

Lysithea released Cyril to look him up and down again. She was likely checking to see if he was injured. When she saw that he wasn’t, she folded her arms across her chest.

“Just kinda… It was more of a swing,” the boy clarified, albeit badly. “She was trying to get some people to move, but I think she coulda just asked.”

“Well… you did get here just in time,” the girl conceded reluctantly. “Though I hope you didn’t thank her for it. Doing that will only encourage her, and people don’t need to get the impression that it’s okay to toss you around.”

“I didn’t…” Cyril replied contritely. “I didn’t stop to say anything. I just wanted to make it here in time to see you.”

Lysithea smiled at that, averting her gaze and brushing a lock of hair over her left ear.

_Even in dim light, Lysithea’s pale face highlighted how nice her smile was. Maybe “braving” Hubert’s frightful glower and getting hurled like an axe by Hilda was worth the trouble._

“Say, why don’t we head down the bridge so we can see the stars?” the boy offered. “That special one is supposed to be out tonight, and I wanted to show it to you!”

The girl looked out at the darkness between where they were standing and the Cathedral, hesitated for a moment, and then nodded resolutely. She seemed more determined to go out to see the stars than she was afraid of the dark, and Cyril hoped to encourage that by keeping a slow, comfortable pace beside her as they walked down the length of the bridge together.

“Conste...nations,” Cyril began, looking up and gesturing at the stars. “They’re-”

“Conste _ll_ ations,” Lysithea interrupted, unable to stop herself from correcting him. “Uh, sorry…”

“No, you’re right,” he responded, trying to own up to his mistake to mask how stupid he felt. “Conste _ll_ ations. Lady Rhea says there’s one for each of the Saints and all of their people in paradise too. Those six stars in a line there are Saint Cichol’s Lance, and the ones bunched up to the left of it are Cichol himself. Saint Cethleann is right above him… there!” Excited, Cyril stopped in his tracks to bring himself very close to Lysithea, take her gently by the hand, and gesture to the constellation he had found. “Ya see her?”

Cyril heard a gulp before he got a reply.

“Yes,” the girl answered meekly, “The four stars in a tight diamond are her head, and the larger triangle below is her robes.”

_Oh. He’d made her uncomfortable, hadn’t he? Whether she was his friend or not, it wasn’t right for a commoner to touch a noble. Cyril needed to apologise._

“I-I’m sorry!” he stammered, quickly releasing her hand and backing off suddenly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, I’m sorry!” she responded hastily. “It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like you were making me…” Lysithea paused for barely a second before she started laughing. “Hehe, look at us! We sound like Marianne!”

Cyril laughed with her, and the two continued walking. “Hah! We do! I don’t think we’ve ever apologised to each other like that before!”

“Let’s not make a habit of it,” Lysithea responded lightly. “Besides… I liked it when you held my hand. The dark isn’t so frightening when I’m with you.”

_So he hadn’t offended her! That was good._

“Really?” he asked. “How come?”

“You... distract me,” she said with a hint of hesitation. “In a good way. Not from my studies or anything important, of course, but from things that hold me back. Like my temper or the dark.”

“Do you want me to hold your hand now?” Cyril offered politely, looking to his friend as the two continued down the bridge.

“No… I’m fine!” she answered, quickly turning her attention back up to the sky. “Look up there in the west. You can see Saint Seiros.”

“Wow, you’re right!” the boy replied. “And her Mother.”

“Her Mother?” Lysithea asked, looking back at her friend. “You must be mistaken, Cyril. There’s nothing in the library’s astrology section about the Goddess’s constellation.”

“Nope, I know I’m right,” Cyril replied definitively, his eyes still glued to the constellation. “The group of stars on her right is her Mother. Lady Rhea says Saint Seiros was always with her Mother, and I think she knows best about that. She’s the Archbishop for a reason, right?”

“If you insist,” the girl conceded. “Huh, you know: it doesn’t seem half as dark at night when there’s a sky like this above you.”

From the corner of his eye, Cyril saw Lysithea look back up at the sky and heard her let out a curious hum. They continued silently down the bridge together like this for some time, both lost in the stars while ever-aware of each other’s presence.

_Where was it? It was supposed to be out until half an hour after the eighth bell on the night of the ball, but Cyril couldn’t see it anywhere._

The further he and Lysithea walked, the harder he squinted to catch a glimpse of that promised star. He thought about giving up once they reached the Cathedral, but his stubbornness would not allow it. They circled the grounds outside of the Cathedral for a time before he saw it: a tiny, pale blue light in the night sky. 

_They hadn’t missed it after all!_

“There!” Cyril exclaimed, stopping abruptly. Lysithea sidled up beside him to get a view from his perspective. “See that blue one?”

“I do!” the girl answered. “That’s the Blue Sea Star, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, the Goddess’s home…” Cyril nodded pridefully. “Pretty, right?”

_He knew his friend was very smart, but the excitement in her voice told him that she had never seen the Blue Sea Star before. She probably never looked for it before because she was afraid of the dark, and it was probably gone during the times she felt brave enough to check. That and she was always studying so dang hard! Cyril was glad to be the one to show it to her._

“Beautiful,” Lysithea replied, her eyes transfixed on the shimmering star. “You know, Cyril, I’m glad that-”

“Wait a sec, Lysithea,” the boy interrupted. “How did we end up here?”

The girl looked down from the sky as Cyril pointed to the Goddess Tower looming nearby across the narrow bridge that separated it from the northwest courtyard. While the structure itself was unimpressive when compared to the rest of the stunning monastery, there were few in Garreg Mach who did not know the history and legend associated with it.

“We must have wandered here,” spoke the girl. “There isn’t anyone around at all, is there?”

“Not that I can see,” Cyril replied, squinting to scan the shadowy courtyard. “I think we oughta go before someone sees us and gets the wrong idea.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Lysithea replied simply, turning from the path ahead. 

_Cyril had expected Lysithea to be more vocal about not going anywhere near the Goddess Tower tonight of all nights. There might not have been anyone around to see them, but she was still awful scared of ghosts and the dark. The night sky wouldn’t come with them inside the tower, and besides… the only people who went into the Goddess Tower on the night of the White Heron Ball were…_

“Hold on,” Cyril said, “Ya want to go in there, don’t ya?”

“No!” she denied in an accusatory tone. “Why? Do you?”

“Not really; I’ve been in there before and it isn’t too special inside,” he replied, humouring her question. “You sure seem to want to go in, though. I don’t mind walking ya over if that’s what ya want.”

Lysithea paused a moment before replying, “No, it isn’t. I enrolled at the Officer’s Academy because I have something important I need to do when I inherit House Ordelia, and this place is where I was supposed to learn how to make it all happen. I didn’t come here to waste time on frivolous things like dancing at balls, staring at stars, or testing some ridiculous myth like some air-headed little girl. I don’t have time for all of that!”

_Cyril could feel his own temper begin to flare. He was trying to be nice. Maybe he had misread Lysithea’s intent, but how could she not see that his heart was in the right place? He was just trying to be a good friend!_

Then through the darkness, Cyril saw something that stopped him from snapping back at her: it was the moonlight glimmering on the tears welling up in her eyes.

_Had he said something wrong before? Or… maybe it was something she said. She didn’t have time for all of that. Time! It was the end of the year and graduation would be coming up soon! So she was nervous about what graduation meant too!_

“Do ya have time for a friend?” he asked. “I don’t want to test the myth either, but I wouldn’t mind making a promise with you out here instead of in there.”

There was a sniffle. Then a gulp. Then a poorly contained sob. And then, whether Lysithea forgot that she had a sweat-soaked handkerchief in her pocket or because she did not want to use it, the girl wiped her eyes against the sleeve of her cleanly-pressed uniform jacket.

“W-What’s the promise?” she asked, trying hard to sound strong.

“That… um,” Cyril thought up something quick, “that no matter how far apart we are or how long it takes for us to see each other again, you and me are always going to be best friends. Uh… deal?”

He awkwardly reached out his hand for her to shake.

_She had done it earlier this month. Maybe it was the best way to be sure._

“Deal!” Lysithea exclaimed happily, taking Cyril firmly by the hand and giving him a huge shake. “With the Blue Sea Star as our witness, it’s a deal!”

“Yeah!” Cyril laughed. “Haha, I like the sound of that! We don’t need the Goddess Tower; we got Her home in the sky!”

Lysithea agreed, and the two friends watched the Blue Sea Star fade gently away before turning their backs on the Goddess Tower to make their way back together. The music in the distance was the same dull roar it had been when Cyril and Lysithea first crossed the bridge, and it would go on well into the evening long after both of them had parted ways to turn in for the night. 

_It felt good to make that promise with Lysithea. Seeing her in pain hurt just about as much as anything else Cyril could imagine, and making her smile had quickly become one of his favourite things to do everyday. The boy mused to himself how right Lady Rhea was; making a friend had changed him… maybe for the better. Even though he’d miss her when she graduated and went home, he could take comfort that they’d both be able to look up at the same sky above them and remember their promise on the Blue Sea Star. And someday… maybe someday, they’d be together again to watch it come back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my ode to every boy's first suit, and their experiences in it. I wanted Cyril's first romp in a proper suit to be something completely outrageous and unforgettable for him, but I also wanted this little caper to continue to illustrate what a rich melting pot of personalities Garreg Mach is. Previous chapters in this fic have primarily covered NPCs, but I'm going to put greater focus on covering playable characters from here on out as well. I also wanted this chapter to demonstrate how Cyril is growing as a person since joining the Golden Deer and meeting Lysithea. He's beginning to trust and rely on others more easily, he has a little moment of m̶i̶s̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶d̶ sympathy for Monica, and he's even learning to make promises of his own. In short: Cyril's becoming his own person (independent of Rhea) whether he realises it or not. Finally, I wanted to actually use a little world building detail from one of Three Houses' chapter intros. I think it's important to incorporate the settings of a world into its characters' interactions, and I thought the Blue Sea Star (which is supposed to disappear during the Ethereal Moon/December and return during the Blue Sea Moon/July) would be a nice little use of 3H's world building as both a plot point and potential foreshadowing for things to expect later on. As always, I really appreciate your support! If you like this fic so far, please consider leaving it a kudos or even a comment! Thanks!
> 
> (Also: this is easily the longest chapter to date, and it's probably going to kick off the trend in length for the chapters to come.)


	7. Lysithea: Guardian Moon, Imperial Year 1181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of a tragedy, Lysithea's search for the truth leads her to questions she may not want answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

There lingered an unmistakable air of sadness at Garreg Mach Monastery that only cooler heads could adequately prevail through. Students and faculty alike poured into the Cathedral, taking their seats in the pews and bowing their heads respectfully. There would be no hymns from the organist nor any singing from the choir, and the massive building echoed only with the faint weeping and sobs of the monastery’s community. It was a day of mourning for Garreg Mach, the Knights of Seiros, and the Officer’s Academy, and nearly every resident of the monastery was present for the funeral. Seteth delivered a tasteful eulogy after a brief sermon from the Archbishop, then spoke the names of the dead.

“Abigal Eurwyn, Allison von Bragi, Brianna Raylene von Lear, George von Vidar, Mar Cedrych, Matthias Matthewson, and Winfred Hannah von Oberon,” the Archbishop’s aid recited somberly. “Children cruelly cut down in their prime. May the Goddess grant them safe passage to Her home in the heavens, and everlasting peace in the hereafter.”

Lysithea clenched her fists as Seteth went through the names of the fallen students. Her eyes stung with tears, but the girl held them off all the same. This was not a pleasant experience, but it was hardly an unfamiliar one.

_Brianna and Winfred were both lesser nobles from the Alliance, good students, and decent young women. Brianna had asked for Lysithea’s help with notes barely a month ago, and Winfred - or Winny as she was known - had bought the girl a scone from her favourite bakery in the town of Garreg Mach to celebrate the first mock battle. If they had been given the chance, either of them could have gone on to live long and happy lives. It was like burying her sisters, brother, and cousins all over again._

A loud sob broke the air, and Lysithea looked over to the Black Eagles section to see Dorothea weeping into Edelgard’s chest. Matthias, George, and Allison were from the Black Eagles House, and the young songstress was evidently quite close with them all. The Princess stroked Dorothea’s hair to calm her down, before meeting Lysithea’s gaze.

_Edelgard looked very resolved… and very tired. Her eyes had dark circles around them, and her skin was paler than it normally was; almost as pale now as Hubert. There was something familiar about that. Had she been having migraines too?_

“And Sir Jeralt Reus Eisner,” Seteth’s voice came, penetrating the relative silence. “Captain of the Knights of Seiros, Leader of the Jeralt Mercenaries, and a face fondly known around Garreg Mach. For decades, this faithful servant of the Goddess defended the innocent during his time as both a knight and a singularly upstanding mercenary. As he goes to join his beloved wife in the Goddess’s embrace, we who remain on this mortal coil offer his child, our Professor Byleth, the love and support of our entire community.”

The Professor was up at the front with Leonie. Though Jeralt’s hot-headed young apprentice had exchanged heated words with the Professor earlier that morning, their shared loss had temporarily brought them together in this moment of grief. Lysithea noted that neither of them were crying; Leonie likely to be brave for the Captain and the Professor, and Byleth because there were no more tears to shed. At least not in public. Jeralt’s death had been the first time anyone had ever seen the Professor cry, but now there was only a somber stare.

_Even this was tantamount to weeping by the Professor’s standards. Byleth had come so far since the beginning of the year, but no one wanted to see it have to come to this for an expression of such sadness. Lysithea could hardly imagine the kinds of thoughts and feelings going through the head of someone who had normally been so detached._

Seteth finished his eulogy, and everyone in the room bowed their heads for a moment of silence. When Lysithea took a peek back over to Edelgard, she suddenly noticed that Hubert was absent. The creepy young man had never seemed the type for condolences, but it seemed very disrespectful that he did not make an appearance. Lysithea bowed her head again to join the rest of the congregation in their silent contemplation.

_Maybe Lysithea could talk to Edelgard about it afterwards. At the very least, it would be an easy segue into what she really wanted to discuss._

“Thank you.” The Cathedral echoed with the rustles of students rising to the sound of Rhea’s voice. The Archbishop had taken the pulpit. “My dear students, as you know: two of the parties responsible for these wicked afronts to the Goddess came from both our faculty and our student body. In light of recent events, I have dispatched the Knights of Seiros to track down the heretics responsible for these atrocious crimes. You are all instructed to resume your regularly scheduled classes, but there will be a curfew in place until the Knights return. Any student found out of their rooms after sundown will spend the rest of their evening in the monastery’s dungeons.”

A murmur erupted from the congregation, and the Archbishop silenced it with a glare.

“We do this for your own protection,” Rhea explained sharply, the motherly intonation in her voice disappearing entirely. The students fell silent as the grave, and the Archbishop cleared her throat to continue in a far more immaculate tone. “Professor Byleth has also asked for a week to grieve, so Professors Hanneman and Manuela have agreed to assume responsibility for all three houses at the Officer’s Academy. Naturally, between this time of collective mourning and the Knights’ absence, there will be no assigned missions this month.”

Another, quieter murmur was similarly silenced when Rhea raised a hand to bless the Cathedral attendants, and Lysithea noticed that Cyril was not at the front, behind the crowd of acolytes where he normally was during Church functions.

_He wasn’t here with Rhea today of all days. That was very strange._

“Go in peace to love and serve the Goddess,” Rhea proclaimed, the melody returning to her voice once more. “Thanks be to Her.”

“We go in Her name,” the congregation responded in unison.

Rhea then invited those who wished to say their last goodbyes to the fallen to come up to the altar where eight coffins had been placed in a row and decorated with garlands of white roses and wreaths of calla lilies. Whispers had already circulated around the monastery that Professor Manuela had performed autopsies on the seven dead students, finding strange objects surgically implanted into each of them. Perhaps because of this, Jeralt’s was the only coffin open for the public to see. Unlike the deceased students who would be sent home to their families, the late-Captain would be buried with his wife here at Garreg Mach. 

Lysithea rose from her pew and looked around her.

_Though she wanted to bid the Captain and her fallen classmates a final farewell, Edelgard was leaving the Cathedral without Dorothea. The two had been sweethearts at the White Heron Ball last month, so it seemed odd that the Princess would be going off alone. It was more than odd; it was downright suspicious._

While most of her other classmates joined Professor Byleth and the other mourners at the altar, Lysithea ducked into the crowd of students and Church acolytes leaving the Cathedral. She followed Edelgard from a safe distance behind, tailing the Adrestian Princess down the bridge, past the Training Yard, by the first-floor dormitories reserved for commoners and spendthrift nobles, and…

_Shoot! Edelgard was making for the stairs! Lysithea had made it this far without drawing the Princess’s suspicion because her own room was near the bottom of the stairwell, but there was no way she’d be able to follow her discreetly now._

“Pardon me, Edelgard!” the girl called out, thinking on her feet. “Do you have a minute?”

The Princess turned from the stairwell and offered the young noble a smile.

“Of course, Lysithea,” she replied politely, doubling back to meet the girl. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I was hoping to help you,” Lysithea answered sincerely. “You’ve been having terrible headaches recently, haven’t you?”

“Oh… well, yes: I suppose I have,” Edelgard responded. “And if you’ve noticed, then I’m sure Claude knows already. Should I be worried about something he’s up to?”

“No,” Lysithea answered plainly, “I have no intention whatsoever of telling Claude. In truth, I was only able to tell because I’ve been having them myself. For some while now, actually.”

“Really?” the Princess asked, the polite smile vanishing from her face. “And just how long have you been having them?”

_This wasn’t going well. Lysithea had been the one with the questions, but Edelgard was the one getting all the answers. She had to keep thinking on her feet._

“Never mind that,” Lysithea replied, rummaging through her dress pocket and retrieving the bag of pomegranate seeds Cyril had given her last month. “I’d like you to try some of these.”

Edelgard raised a brow, smiling more sincerely now at the offer. “May I ask what _these_ are?”

“Chocolate-dipped pomegranate seeds. Adrestian chocolate,” the girl replied, half-believing that the Imperial origin of the chocolate would somehow make them a better sell to the future Emperor of Adrestia. “They don’t help with the pain, but they never fail to put me in a better mood. I find that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

“Wisely spoken,” the Princess responded, her smile giving way to a brief chuckle. “Heh, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. Let’s see here…” Reaching into the bag and pulling out a few of the sumptuous morsels, Edelgard inspected them briefly before taking a taste. “My, these _are_ good. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

_‘Good’ was an understatement! Edelgard’s face practically lit up just then. She must have had a sweet-tooth too. Or at the very least an appreciation of objectively good things!_

“My pleasure,” Lysithea replied with a nod, hoping to turn the conversation on the Princess. “May I ask you something, Edelgard?”

“Certainly. You wanted to ask me if the headaches I’ve been having recently have anything to do with those students who lost their lives at the abandoned chapel last month, don’t you?” the Princess deftly responded. Lysithea was shocked, and her silence prompted Edelgard to continue. “The answer to your question is a yes. What happened to Allison and the others was an unacceptable outrage… an outrage that has made this month rather hard for me. You probably know about this better than anyone else here at Garreg Mach.”

_Edelgard knew. How did she piece everything together so well? Had she also been through…? No, that wasn’t possible. Edelgard was the Imperial Princess, after all, and Emperor Ionius would never have subjected her to that. But… she knew something about it. She knew about Lysithea’s two Crests, and those migraines…_

“Perhaps you’d like to come up to my room to discuss it in privacy?” the Princess asked the stunned girl. “I’m sure this isn’t something you like talking about in public.”

Lysithea looked around carefully and nodded, and Edelgard gestured to the stairwell. As she proceeded ahead of the Princess, creeping suspicions and terrible dread swirled around her head like an angry wasp.

_What had Lysithea gotten herself into? Was Edelgard somehow associated with Tomas and Monica? She couldn’t have been; the Princess was so upset with what had happened to Jeralt and the students that it physically hurt her. She was definitely an ally here, but she knew Lysithea’s secret. And now… now she was going to talk about it with her in private._

As Lysithea and Edelgard ascended the stairs, the younger girl’s ears perked to attention when she heard the growl of a man’s voice from up the stairs and down the hall. She looked to the Princess behind her, and the two hurried upstairs as quickly as they could. Lysithea reached the top first, looking down the hall and noticing someone in an Officer’s Academy uniform talking down to someone much shorter than him.

“Let me make this plain,” she heard the man say. It looked and sounded like Hubert. “If I wanted him dead, I’d not have done it so carelessly in the open.”

As Lysithea squinted to see who Hubert was talking to, Edelgard pushed her way past and called out to her vassal.

“Hubert! Stand down!” the Princess ordered. The frightful young man complied without a moment’s hesitation, and backed away from the smaller figure who had been pressed up against the wall behind them. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Lysithea made her way to Edelgard’s side and saw Cyril glowering fiercely at Hubert.

“My apologies, Lady Edelgard,” the nobleman said, dipping a low, polite bow to his Princess. “I was just assuring our dear… _friend_ here that he needn’t worry about my involvement with Ms. von Ochs. In fact...” Lysithea saw Hubert’s one, visible eye slither towards Cyril like a serpent. “I was about to inform him that I would like to see her dead just as much as poor, bereaved Professor Byleth would.”

Edelgard looked to Cyril and sighed.

“Cyril, was it?” the Princess asked. “I apologise for Hubert, and ask that you forgive him for any rudeness he might have shown you, but I assure you that he’s innocent in all of this.”

A tense silence befell the room. Lysithea looked to her friend and saw that he hardly looked convinced. He had not taken his eyes off of Hubert for even a moment after she and Edelgard had arrived, and Lysithea was not sure he had seen her at all by the Imperial Princess’s side.

“Cyril!” the girl called to her friend. “It’s me, Lysithea! Come here!”

The boy took his time prying his eyes away from Hubert’s back. There was a palpable amount of hatred in those eyes that Lysithea had never seen in him before. As soon as Cyril looked to her, though, all of that hatred seemed to melt away and he came along cautiously.

“My enemy’s enemy…” Cyril growled as he passed by Hubert.

“Is an enemy for another day,” the nobleman retorted, smiling wickedly. “A joke, of course. My apologies… Cyril, was it?”

“That’s enough,” Edelgard scolded her vassal, offering the young pair now beside her as polite a smile as she could muster. “I suppose I owe you an explanation about Monica von Ochs. Both of you.”

The moment Cyril made it to Lysithea’s side, the girl took her friend by the hand and held onto it as if he might fly away if she were to let him go. She was unsure now of who was holding onto who for protection’s sake.

“Monica’s disappearance was well-noted in the Empire and her father caused quite a fuss in the Imperial Court to try to find her,” the Princess began, turning her full attention to the two young friends. “A search across all of Fódlan was conducted by the Empire and the Knights of Seiros, but sadly nothing came of it. It had become evident that poor Monica was likely no longer alive, but Baron Ochs would not listen to reason. He begged my father to continue searching Fódlan for her, and I stepped in to make him a promise: if Hubert or I made contact with her while we attended the Officer’s Academy this year, we would send her home to him at once.”

“But the girl your class rescued from the Death Knight last year obviously wasn’t her,” Hubert supplied. “I suspected as much when she first regained consciousness.” 

“And ya didn’t tell Lady Rhea or any of the Knights because?” Cyril demanded.

“That would be tantamount to sending her to an untimely grave,” Hubert replied coldly. “In the very best of circumstances, _‘Monica’_ might have been some lowborn cuckoo of a girl who hoped to sly her way into a grieving father’s comfortable nest. Despicable though that might have been, I suppose a rare wind of mercy asked me to spare the girl’s life from the death sentence Lady Rhea and the Church would have inflicted upon her. I did that wretched girl the kindness of intercepting the Church’s letters to Baron Ochs, but I assure you both: I shan’t make the mistake of being merciful again.”

Cyril had gone quiet and very still as Hubert spoke, and Lysithea looked at him worriedly. His expression was no longer as angry or as hate-filled as it had been before; he looked devastated.

_Cyril loved Rhea like a mother… maybe even like a god… but it was obvious by the look on his face that she wasn’t perfect to him. Not anymore. Maybe she hadn’t been for some time now. Making friends at the Officer’s Academy had changed him. Lysithea had seen the way Cyril had made friends with Ashe, whose own adopted father was put to death by the Archbishop and the Church last year. Rhea might have been a good person… perhaps even a great person… but now Cyril was coming to terms with the fact that Rhea wasn’t as faultless as he once thought she was. The disappointment must have been very difficult for him._

Lysithea gave Cyril’s hand a little squeeze and offered him a smile, and her friend looked up from the ground to offer back a smile of his own.

_At least she had let him know that he didn’t have to face these feelings alone._

“Aren’t we cute?” Hubert teased with a smug smile on his face. “And just what business did you have with Lady Edelgard today, Lysithea? I trust you know your room is downstairs… below her.”

“Hubert, behave,” Edelgard chided. “Lysithea and I were planning on discussing some matters between women in the privacy of my room over tea and sweet cakes. Isn’t that right, Lysithea?”

_She never said anything about sweet cakes before!_

The Princess turned slightly from Hubert to smile discreetly at the girl, and Lysithea managed a nervous nod in response. Edelgard had used Lysithea’s fondness for sweets to bait a reaction out of her, and that reaction helped sell the fib to Hubert and Cyril.

_There was no mistaking it: Edelgard knew exactly what she was doing. Lysithea could tell that the Princess was well-accustomed to thinking on her feet in unexpected situations. Claude may have been an excellent proactive strategist, but it was clear that Edelgard was in a league of her own as a reactive planner. If it wasn’t for Professor Byleth’s similarly reactive mind for strategy, Lysithea was now convinced that the Golden Deer would not have been able to win the Battle of the Eagle and Lion last year._

“You have my sincere apologies for the interruption,” Hubert replied with surprising earnesty. “Though I must advise against it for today; Her Highness needs her rest and clear water instead of anything caffeinated. With dangerous characters about, we must all be at our sharpest.”

“Agreed,” Edelgard responded. “Perhaps we could have that chat once ‘Monica’ and ‘Tomas’ have been dealt with?”

“Right,” Lysithea answered simply. “I think that’s for the best, especially with the curfew in order.”

“Curfew?” Hubert asked, grimacing at the sound of the word. “That seems a bit… unnecessary of Lady Rhea.”

“No, I don’t think it’s unnecessary at all,” Cyril added in, a hint of pride swelling in his voice. “I think Lady Rhea’s right on this one. Monica and our other enemies won’t come after us again unless they can do it somewhere hard to see. Ya said it yourself, Hubert: it was pretty dumb to do what she did in the open.”

_It was good to see Cyril taking back some of his regular confidence._

“My, aren’t we full of surprises?” the nobleman sighed, raising a brow disdainfully. “You’re right, of course, but I’d caution you against thinking the light as your sanctuary from those who slither in the dark. As ‘Monica’ and the librarian have proved, the easiest place for an enemy to hide is in plain sight.”

Edelgard hummed in agreement with her vassal, then turned her attention squarely to Cyril and Lysithea. 

“I’m sure either the Knights of Seiros or your professor will make a move on them soon,” she told the pair, “but if Professor Byleth is the one to make contact first, then please promise me that neither of you will hold anything back. These people aren’t who they said they were; they’re responsible for what happened in Remire and at the abandoned chapel. If you give them the chance, they will kill you and escape to commit more heinous acts later on.”

_There was purpose behind Edelgard’s words; Lysithea just knew it. The Princess brought up Remire and the chapel almost explicitly for her to hear. Why, though? Was this Edelgard’s way of linking them to what she had hoped to talk to her about in her room? If that was true, it meant that Monica or Tomas was somehow involved in…_

“Tomas was always real nice to everyone and he never treated me bad because of where I came from,” Cyril replied, looking up into Edelgard’s eyes resolutely, “but nice isn’t the same as good. If he’s working with Monica to try to hurt Lady Rhea or anyone else at the monastery, he’s just another enemy to me.”

“I’ll be cautious, but I won’t hesitate when the time comes,” Lysithea responded, still clutching her friend’s hand. “These people and their allies can’t be allowed to continue their work.”

Edelgard seemed satisfied with their answers, nodding and bidding the pair goodbye for the day before retiring with Hubert. The encounter between these four people had been strange, tense, and eerily enlightening, but Cyril had held Lysithea’s hand without complaint the entire time he was there beside her. Even as the pair descended the stairs together, he did not let go.

“Are ya okay?” the boy asked as soon as they reached the door to her dorm room. “I know talking about… um, the librarian is hard for ya, but that was something else, huh?”

Lysithea nodded, glancing briefly at their hands and smiling at Cyril.

“I told you before that I don’t feel so frightened when you hold my hand,” the girl responded gratefully before clearing her throat and assuming her regular tone with him. “Thank you for that. Now… um, you can let me go.”

“Hey, you’re the one who rescued me!” Cyril teasingly accused, releasing her hand. “I thought Hubert was gonna kill me when I snuck up on him like that.”

“Hehe, I thought so too when I saw him looming over you the way he did,” she laughed. “I suppose it’s a good thing you and I are always looking out for each other.”

“Hah, even when we don’t mean to,” he chuckled in response before sighing guiltily. “Y’know, Lysithea: I feel real bad about missing the funeral today, especially for the Professor. I was so sure I was onto something with Hubert that I had to get him alone. Ya probably think that was stupid of me, don’t ya?”

“Only that you went in alone,” Lysithea replied. “I think there’s much more going on than either of us by ourselves can tell at the moment. If we’re going to get to the bottom of it, we’ll need to work with the Professor and the others.”

“Right,” Cyril agreed, still looking contrite. “Those monsters that the students turned into… they looked just like the one Sylvain’s brother turned into a while back. I think whatever’s going on is bigger than Hubert or Edelgard, or even Monica and…” 

“Solon,” the girl said plainly. “We’re going to have to confront him someday, so I need to get used to saying his name. For all we know, Cyril, Tomas was just another innocent victim like the real Monica. We know that wasn’t her now, and… we have to accept what those people did if we’re going to try to figure out what they might do next.”

Cyril did not respond with much more than a smile, and Lysithea scrunched her face up at her friend suspiciously.

“And just what is that for?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “You look as though I’ve said something funny to you.”

“Oh… uh, no. It’s nothing like that,” Cyril replied. “I’m just proud of ya, is all. You’re less mad than ya were last month… like you’re ready. Seeing ya like this makes me ready too. Even if today’s supposed to be a sad one, knowing you’re okay makes me feel a little better.”

_There he went being sweet again. It was always so disarming coming from a boy she would always associate the word ‘prickly’ with, but he was her best friend for a reason._

“You know, Cyril, Professor Byleth is going to be out for the week,” Lysithea told him. “That means Professor Hanneman will likely be covering our material on battlefield strategy and troop formations instead.”

Half-pretending to be upset by the news, Cyril rolled his eyes. “Ugh, that means half the class won’t be able to understand what he’s saying, while everyone else will be asleep.”

“Not us, though,” she said proudly. “I’m going to read the material to you ahead of time today so we both know what to expect.”

“Oh, I’d like that,” he responded. “Lady Rhea told me last night that the curfew doesn’t apply to me because I work here and all, so maybe I can bring ya some dinner after I’m done with my chores for today.”

“Yes please!” the girl practically shouted. “I hadn’t really considered how dinner was going to work, but you’d be giving me so much more freedom this afternoon if you did.”

“Okay! I’ll see ya later, then, Lysithea!” Cyril replied, offering her one last smile before heading off. “Thanks again for rescuing me!”

“You rescued me too, you know!” she called back to him, waving her friend goodbye for the time being. Lysithea saw Cyril laugh to himself as he went away, and she could hardly resist the urge to laugh quietly to herself as well.

_Cyril had a point: this month had started terribly, but it wasn’t beyond salvaging. Lysithea realised that this tragedy had brought the monastery community together as it seldom been before. Between her best friend’s encouragement, her classmates’ support, and even Edelgard’s assurance, Lysithea was determined to never again let her painful past sway how she felt in the present. The enemy was near and everyone would have to be very cautious, but if ‘Monica’, Solon, and their mysterious allies could be defeated, then maybe… maybe Lysithea could go to her grave someday knowing that she had helped put an end to their twisted deeds once and for all. There may not have been a lot of time ahead of her, but she would make every moment she had left truly count for something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the new year having just begun, I wanted this chapter to be the point where plot and conflict of Three Houses really starts to bleed into the lives of the all the characters in this fic. As such, this chapter is really where we start to feel the beginning of the end for Cyril and Lysithea's days at the Academy. Though these two characters are obviously very fond of each other, they go about searching for the truth in very different ways which kind of foreshadows the different directions they're both about to be forced into taking. Even still, I wanted this chapter to highlight and humanise some key players for the chapters to come. Probably the most important is Edelgard, whose unique relationship with Lysithea doesn't really get to be explored outside of the Black Eagles path of 3H. I wanted her to seem charming, competent, compassionate, and dangerous to Lysithea, and I wanted these qualities to endear her to our leading lady. I also had a deliciously good time making Hubert as curt and cunning as possible, while showcasing his ability to lie with the truth. I wanted the set up with him and Monica from the last chapter to go somewhere, so it felt his altercation with Cyril was the perfect conclusion to this. Finally, I wanted this chapter to really demonstrate the development Lysithea and Cyril are going through, and how even they are starting to take note of it in each other. Cyril's emotional growth has been pretty obvious so far (though he's still a prickly, little mama's-boy), but I wanted him to grow morally as well. To make it short: learning that your heroes or your parents aren't perfect sucks. For Lysithea, this chapter is her first step out of the shadows of her past. She's sick of letting what happened to her control her, and she's taking back that control to become a more optimistic (slightly less snappy) young woman. 
> 
> As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it! This has been a real passion project for me, and I want to share it with anyone who'll read it!
> 
> (And an extra shout out to my friends Who, Hanna, George, Ray, Allison, Matt, Brianna, Abigal, and Sage who volunteered to have dead kids named after them!)


	8. Cyril: Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With momentous events on the near horizon, Cyril joins the Golden Deer in celebrating a very special birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

There lingered an unrecognisable air of mirth at Garreg Mach Monastery that only cooler heads could adequately navigate. As the second month of the year drew to a close, students at the Officer’s Academy clamoured to prepare for their final rounds of examinations, while clerics from across Fódlan poured into the monastery to prepare for a special advent at the Holy Tomb of the Goddess. The ceremony was to be the first of its kind since the legendary Saint Seiros received a divine revelation from the Goddess over a thousand years ago, and it positively eclipsed every other aspect of life at Garreg Mach Monastery. 

“Thank you, Cyril,” the Archbishop said, not turning from her vanity mirror as she continued to fix her hair. Though Cyril had arrived at the time he normally did to bring Rhea her breakfast, she was already up and had little time for him now. “On my desk in the corner, please.”

Cyril did as he was bade, and offered the Archbishop a smile in the mirror. She acknowledged him with a brief smile of her own before nodding to dismiss him from her quarters. This had been the trend since the incident at the Sealed Forest, but Cyril was hardly used to it.

“Have a good day, Lady Rhea,” the boy said, closing the door behind him. Cyril knew better than to wait for her to say it back to him, though he certainly hoped she would.

_ Things would go back to normal once the Professor was done with the ceremony tomorrow. They just had to. Cyril would get to see Lady Rhea just as she woke up again. She would make space for him on her bed, they’d share toast and eggs in the morning sun, and she’d ask about his day just like she always used to. It was just one more day away. _

Last month’s impromptu mission had been more than anyone at Garreg Mach might have bargained for, least of all Professor Byleth. Though Solon, Kronya, and most of their murderous allies had been killed in the fighting that broke out in the Sealed Forest, Byleth came out of the ordeal quite literally glowing with the Progenitor God’s power.

_ At the very least, Cyril would be able to spend time with Lysithea and the rest of the Golden Deer today. He might have gotten frustrated with Claude from time to time, but that schemer really did know how to scheme up a perfect birthday party. He even woke up early this morning to help Cyril pick Lysithea’s cake up from the bakery in town. And Lysithea… she was probably getting ready for class now. There weren’t many of these days left. _

Though the ceremony at the Holy Tomb was certainly the talk of the town, graduation was just around the corner for students at the Officer’s Academy. It had been a strange year marred by tragedy and confusion, but Cyril could hardly recall a better year of his life. He had made friends, gotten a taste of academia, fought to protect Rhea, overcame enemies, and even made a promise that helped him feel excited for his future for the first time in his life. And as Cyril descended the stairs from the Archbishop’s quarters, he no longer looked for the glares the guards on watch would still pass him; his attention was out the windows and into the courtyards. He wanted to see as many of the students he had come to know as he could before they all parted ways. 

_ Marianne was in the sun today, smiling at the birds that fluttered from tree to tree. The circles under her eyes were getting less and less obvious. Lorenz guessed that she had been getting more sleep, but people only got eyes like that from crying. It was good to know that she wasn’t feeling as sad as she normally was. It looked like Dedue was out there too. He was probably making his way to the Greenhouse. The flowers he grew there were the prettiest anyone at the monastery had ever seen, but the quiet giant insisted that the ones in Duscur put them all to shame. _

Cyril stopped and squinted to make out a figure in the distance. 

_ Was that Ferdinand? It had to have been. No one else at Garreg Mach walked with such confidence. He must have gone for a nice ride out into town to pick up some of those fancy teas he liked to drink so much. With Edelgard and Hubert out of the monastery for most of the month, Ferdinand probably had no one left to bother with his ‘superior noble’ stuff... except Linhardt... and maybe Caspar… and Lorenz, who probably enjoyed those talks. _

“Practicing your aim again?” came a voice from behind, interrupting Cyril’s quiet moment of observation.

“Hey, Shamir,” the boy replied, not needing to turn around to know his mentor’s voice. “Not really. I guess I’m just taking everything in today.”

“That’s new for you,” responded the knight, noiselessly drawing a few paces closer. Even in casual conversation, Shamir’s footsteps were as silent as shadows. “What do you see?”

“People, I guess,” Cyril answered with a shrug. “People I know. Some of them are people I like okay, and some of them aren’t, but I was thinking…” He paused. “They’re probably never gonna be together like this again, aren’t they?”

“Probably not,” Shamir said bluntly. “But there’s only one guarantee in life.”

“What’s that?” he asked, turning to look up at the knight.

“Change,” she plainly stated. “We’re born. We live. We die. Life is a cycle of changes. I met you about three years ago. You were new here, and you followed after Rhea like a puppy. After you insisted I teach you archery, you’d spend afternoons like this looking out of windows to practice your aim with that fake bow I gave you. Back then, you were satisfied just thinking about protecting Rhea. You were still her puppy.”

_ Shamir’s words stung in a way they might not have a year ago.  _

“And now I’m not?” the boy asked pensively.

“Less so than before,” she answered. “You’re starting to realise that you can’t follow after her like you used to, and you found your own pack somewhere along the way. They may be a temporary pack, but they’ve been one that’s given you a taste of what it’s like to be an equal. The people you’re looking out at aren’t targets anymore. When they go next month, you’ll have to start thinking about whether you want to belong to someone, with someone, or whether you’d prefer to be alone again.”

The boy did not respond beyond turning his gaze to the cobblestone floor beneath his feet.

_ Cyril never wanted to be alone again. He hadn’t been truly alone since before Lady Rhea brought him to Garreg Mach from the Locket, or at least… he had convinced himself that he wasn’t alone once he had gotten here. Lady Rhea treated him better than anyone had before, but he never pretended that he was her equal. Even in his thoughts, Cyril still prefaced her name with ‘Lady’. Did he belong to her? And… was that a bad thing? _

“Listen: I didn’t come here to give you life advice,” Shamir said, breaking the silence. “I came here to tell you that you need to get to class. It’s likely that Claude has another ridiculous birthday ambush planned, so you’ll want to give your friend that present you made her before he spoils her day.”

“What?!” the boy gasped. “How did ya know that I made-?”

“It’s right there,” the knight stated, pointing at the crudely-made envelope tucked clumsily into Cyril’s sash. “You should have asked Seteth for a proper envelope, and you should probably also stop wasting time.” 

Flustered, Cyril looked out the window again to see that Marianne was no longer basking in the sun with her birds. The tenth bell of the morning would be sounding out soon, and Lysithea was always five minutes early to class. He had about half that time to beat her there.

“R-Right!” Cyril stuttered, nearly tripping as he bolted down the stairs. “Thanks, Shamir! I’ll think about what ya said, promise!”

“Don’t think. Move,” Shamir called back, her voice echoing down the length of the stairwell. “Your friend is faster than she looks, and the enemy won’t give you the courtesy of a wakeup call on the battlefield.”

_ Was keeping him delayed her idea of a lesson? Shamir might have been a harsh teacher, but she was right as usual. Cyril had been letting his guard down since the Battle at the Sealed Forest, and he hadn’t been getting much faster on foot since passing his Wyvern Rider’s exam. He would really have to hurry if he was going to get there on time. _

Sprinting as quickly as his legs could carry him, Cyril raced down the stairs and out into the courtyard in front of the Officer’s Academy. As he ran, he could feel his brow begin to moisten with sweat. He cursed the Golden Deer’s homeroom for being the farthest south. As soon as Cyril reached the lecture hall, he peered through the window to see the curtains drawn and the lights out.

_ There was going to be a birthday ambush, all right. That meant he had made it here before Lysithea did. He hadn’t been too slow after all! _

As if on cue, Cyril looked south and spotted his best friend heading to class from the dormitories. By the quickness of her pace, he could tell that Lysithea had not fully processed what awaited her in the darkened lecture hall.

_ It was a good thing she had him looking out for her. _

“Good morning, Cyril,” Lysithea greeted as her friend walked up to meet her halfway down the walkway.

“Hey, Lysithea,” Cyril said back, offering her the shoddy little envelope he made. “Happy birthday.”

“How thoughtful! Thank you,” the girl replied gratefully, unfazed by the sloppiness of Cyril’s handiwork. “May I ask you what’s inside?”

“Later,” Cyril replied hastily. “I’m not the only one who remembered your birthday; the classroom is all dark inside. Ya know what that means, right?”

“Ugh, Claude,” Lysithea groaned. “I can already see how this is going to happen: I’m going to wander into that room, everyone will shout ‘surprise’, and I’ll still get shocked because of how dark it is in there. Maybe I should hit that idiot with a fireball when I see him.”

“Maybe,” the boy responded, clearly amused by the idea of watching Hilda try to help Claude douse his flaming cape, “but I think I got a better idea. You remember how we were supposed to have a quiz on offensive manoeuvres today, right?”

Lysithea raised a brow and smiled deviously. “I like where this is going. What did you have in mind?”

“A bait-and-switch attack,” Cyril answered, smirking along with her. As he explained the details of his plan, he could see that Lysithea clearly thought it was brilliant. “...All ya gotta do after that is just walk in and rub Claude’s nose in it.”

“Simple, easy, and brutally efficient. I take back what I said before,” Lysithea replied, now grinning in devilish anticipation. “I  _ love  _ where this is going. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Cyril nodded and the two friends made their way to the double doors leading into the Golden Deer’s lecture hall. They both took a moment to shake themselves out to prepare their ruse, and Lysithea cleared her throat before beginning.

“Pincer, spearhead, encirclement…” the girl recited as if she were preparing for the quiz her class was promised for the day. Lysithea may not have been a very good liar, but she was an excellent student. “Hammer-and-anvil, three-pronged, wedge, and…”

At the signal, Cyril pulled open the door and stepped into the darkness of the lecture hall.

“Surprise!”

In one swift motion, the window curtains were pulled back and the lanterns were ignited, revealing the entirety of the Golden Deer House spread out around the room. The students from the Alliance and Professor Byleth stood at the center of the lecture hall, circled around a magnificent white cake topped with glistening strawberries. Cyril stood in the middle of it all, looking as innocent and shocked as he possibly could.

“Oh shoot, Cyril?” Claude groaned, turning on a heel and motioning to the others. “All right, everyone, back to your pla-”

“Bait-and-switch,” Lysithea interrupted, making no attempt to hide her satisfaction with how the plan turned out as she entered the room. “My, my. Is all of this for me?”

“It sure is!” Caspar cried out joyfully as Linhardt beside him buried his face in his palm.

“Surprise!” Raphael shouted, prompting a groan from Lorenz (and an echoed ‘Surprise!’ from Caspar).

_ The look on Claude’s face was priceless. Leicester’s most promising strategist had been outwitted by a sixteen year-old girl and an illiterate orphan from Almyra. If this had been a battle, Cyril was sure that bards would be singing his name forever. _

“All right,” Claude sighed, recomposing himself. “I concede defeat. Happy birthday, Lysithea.”

“Happy birthday, Lysithea!” the class roared in unison.

“Thank you, everyone,” Lysithea replied, dipping herself in a modest curtsy. “Oh, and Claude: I want you to know that this is definitive proof that I’m not half the child you make me out to be.”

The lord rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Haha, all right. Who am I to disagree with the birthday g-” Catching a glimpse of the fire in the  _ birthday girl’s  _ eyes, Claude cleared his throat to correct himself. “I mean, who am I to disagree with the birthday  _ lady?  _ This is your party, after all.”

Cyril smiled as the exchange unfolded, and soon found himself laughing with the rest of the class as it came to a head. Though he never admitted it to anyone before, Cyril had grown to enjoy the parties that Claude threw. The unusual heir to House Reigan regularly put his silver tongue to good use in convincing the Professor to postpone lectures in the event of a student's birthday. Claude also spent an inordinate amount of time studying his classmates, so the food served at his parties were always the birthday person’s favourites. And the dances he insisted nearly everyone participated in were like nothing Cyril had ever seen in Fòdlan. They were far more lively and much less intimate than Fòdlan ballroom dancing, almost reminiscent of the kinds of wild dances Cyril recalled from Almyra. 

_ Cyril wouldn’t be surprised if Claude was secretly part Almyran. Though he had the green eyes and sharp features of a young man from Fòdlan, his skin was slightly darker than the rest of his classmates’ and his hair was much wavier too. Maybe that was why he had been so curious about Cyril’s experience as an Almyran immigrant. Maybe he was looking for someone he could talk about home with. If that was the case, he was barking up the wrong tree; Cyril belonged in Almyra just about as much as he belonged in Fòdlan… and maybe that was why he enjoyed Claude’s parties so much. They were somewhere in the middle of the two places… without being anywhere near the Locket.  _

Well into the party as the cake was being served, Cyril found himself growing tired. As fun as this might have been, it was also quite draining. And while most of the others were up and dancing or helping themselves to the refreshments, Cyril noticed that the only person on their own was Marianne. Even Claude knew better than to force the quiet young woman to dance with the others, but she did tell Hilda once that she liked watching them all. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to see if he could find a moment’s peace.

“Hey, Marianne,” Cyril said, offering the noblewoman a polite smile. “Can I sit here with ya?”

“Oh... hello, Cyril,” she replied, standing up from her seat. “Here you are: you can have this table to yourself. I’m sorry for selfishly occupying it for so long.”

“What are ya talking about, Marianne?” the boy asked. “We can sit together, can’t we?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologised again, turning to avert her gaze. “You don’t want to sit with me. I’m terrible company, and-”

“Ya need to stop apologising all the time, Marianne,” the boy interrupted bluntly. “If ya don’t, then it won’t count for much when ya have something real important to say you’re sorry for.”

“I… suppose you’re right,” Marianne replied, trying hard not to sound too contrite. “But everything I do makes things-”

“Nah-ah,” Cyril interrupted again. “Ya looked real happy with those birds earlier today, and they didn’t seem bothered by you at all. The horses are the same; I actually think they like ya. Y’know: you’re a lot less trouble to others than ya think ya are, Marianne. I hope ya recognise that someday.”

“I’m… uh, you’re…”

Cyril could tell how difficult it was for Marianne to accept that she could do anything right, so he just smiled at her again and quietly took a seat on the opposite end of the bench from her. Nobody at the monastery knew Marianne very well, but Cyril felt like he had felt similarly useless some while back. A suspicion in the back of his mind told him that Shamir had been onto something. That these people were as much Cyril’s family as Rhea was, and that he would miss them when they were gone.

_ And Lysithea… he’d miss her the most. He’d miss the way she read for him, the way they’d look out for each other all the time, and that nice smile of hers that the rest of her friends probably adored. He’d even miss the way her temper flared; it made him feel like he could be mad or rude too and not be discarded for it. _

When the midday bell began to toll, Professor Byleth asked the students of the Golden Deer House to clean up, say their goodbyes for the day, and head out to catch up on their training and fulfill their weekly objectives. Marianne was among those who left as quickly as they could, thanking Cyril for his company and resolving to spend the rest of the afternoon tending to the horses. Claude, Hilda, and Professor Byleth were among the last to leave, with the former already formulating plans to secure the Holy Tomb tomorrow in the event that the mysterious Flame Emperor tried to make an appearance. This simply left Cyril to sweep up what the students left behind, and Lysithea who insisted that she could keep her friend company as she flipped through a grimoire of advanced spells.

“You took that surprisingly well,” Lysithea remarked, sitting on a tabletop to allow Cyril easier access to the floors. “You normally hate letting others clean up for you.”

“Oh, I do,” Cyril responded, brushing together a pile of dust and litter. “I just didn’t wanna mess up the Professor’s plan. Ya saw how that worked out, right?”

“It was pretty clever,” she replied. “Using small unit formations to handle the bulk of the mess. I’ll bet most of them didn’t realise that the Professor had them running drills on their day off.”

“Probably not,” added the boy, sweeping a soiled napkin out from beneath a nearby shelf, “but they still need practice. Little messes that get left behind like this are part of why I like to do my own work.”

“Not everyone can be as thorough as you, Cyril,” the girl mused aloud.

“I know,” he sighed jokingly, “but it’d be nice if they were at least a little of the way there.”

“I agree,” Lysithea replied, looking up at Cyril from her book. “It would be nice. You’re the hardest-working and most reliable person I know, and… I am going to miss you.”

Cyril stopped sweeping and looked over to Lysithea to see if she was kidding or embellishing the truth at all.

_ She wasn’t. He knew what she looked like when she lied. _

“...I’m gonna miss ya too, Lysithea,” he responded, unsure of what more to say. “You’re smart and dependable and ya work just as hard as me. Maybe even harder. And…”

He paused, remembering something Rhea told him months ago.

“I think I’m a better person because of ya,” Cyril said absently. “I’m… not so sure what I’m gonna do when you and everyone else go next month.”

_ If the ceremony at the Holy Tomb went the way Lady Rhea wanted it to go this month, it dawned on Cyril that she probably wouldn’t have time for him like she used to anymore. Professor Byleth was the special one, and Cyril was just… Cyril. _

Lysithea put her book down. “You could ask for a sabbatical. Maybe see a bit more of Fódlan?”

“Sabbati-what?” Cyril asked, snapping out of his own thoughts. “Ya mean like a... break to go travel, right? I don’t know… the Professor said something like that a while back, but I gotta stay here and repay my debt to Lady Rhea.” A quick sigh followed. “Besides, where in Fódlan would I even wanna go?”

“Cyril, do I have to spell it out for you?” Lysithea pouted, sliding off the table she was sitting on. “Ordelia Territory. I want you to come visit me, while I settle my family’s affairs. Our home is right on the Airmid River, making it the closest seat in the Alliance to Garreg Mach. Getting there and back again would hardly take very long at all, especially on that wyvern of yours.”

“I guess that does sound nice,” the boy replied, hesitation heavy in his voice. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if your parents don’t like me because-”

“Nonsense,” interrupted the girl. “They already like you. I’ve…” Lysithea paused suddenly, brushing a lock of hair over her ear and averting her gaze before clearing her throat to continue. “...I’ve written to them about you. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Really?” he asked. “But why me? Yeah, we’re best friends, but you’re also friends with the Imperial Princess and the future Leader of the Alliance. Wouldn’t they rather hear about people like that?”

“As a matter of fact: no,” Lysithea answered, drawing near. “My parents have had their fill of nobility and everything it entails, and they would much rather hear about my closest friend. About you, Cyril.” 

_ It made sense that someone as special as Lysithea had kind parents, but being kind wasn’t always safe for nobles. By the way she spoke of nobility, her parents probably knew that very well already. _

“I’m real grateful, Lysithea,” he said, “but I don’t wanna put you or your parents in a tough situation. Whether I like it or not, I’m Almyran. Even here at Garreg Mach with Lady Rhea watching out for me, people look at me funny. Outside of the monastery is… different. I’m used to it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” interjected the girl bitterly. “I can’t stand the way those people look at you, and it’s people like them that govern half the world or more. Ugh, it’s infuriating! We made a promise to be best friends no matter what, and I refuse to hide that from anyone. If some idiots in the Church, the Alliance, or anywhere else in Fódlan can’t accept that, they’re either going to have to learn to live with it or answer to me!”

_ That was that. If Cyril tried to offer up any further protest, he’d probably have to answer to Lysithea too. That was… if he wanted to. They made a good team on the battlefield and in the classroom, and he liked the idea of knocking some sense into a few closed-minded jerks. _

Cyril put aside his broom and walked up to offer his hand to his friend.

“Okay, Lysithea,” he said earnestly. “If I can get some time off, I’ll come over to visit ya. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Instead of shaking his hand like she normally did whenever they made a promise together, Lysithea did something else entirely. Slipping by his outstretched hand, Lysithea wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shoulder, and gave him a squeeze. Cyril was not quite sure what to do initially, but he eventually settled into the embrace and gave her back a pat. 

_ This was the first time a girl around his age had given him a hug… and it wasn’t so bad. Lady Rhea had given Cyril plenty of hugs in the past and he was sure his mother hugged him plenty too when she was still around, but hugging Lysithea felt… different. Maybe it was because she was just his height and much more slight. How did a girl who ate so many sweets stay so skinny anyway? _

“Hey, Cyril?” she asked, her voice muffled slightly by his tunic.

“Hey, Lysithea,” he supplied cheekily.

The girl laughed into his shoulder before pulling back a bit. “About that envelope you gave me earlier… You’re still not able to read or write on your own, right?”

“Nope,” Cyril answered. “I think I got some of the letters down and can follow along with ya okay, but it’s better for me when I can hear it.”

“I see,” Lysithea replied with a hum. “I’ll have to teach you properly when you come by to visit. There never seems to be enough time, and I won’t always be around to read for you.”

“Yeah… you’re right. Guess I’ll try real hard to remember all I can between now and then,” he responded. “By the way, do ya wanna open up that envelope? I didn’t write anything down on what’s inside, but I think it’s still plenty special.”

“May I?” she asked.

Cyril nodded, and Lysithea released him to fish the parcel out from her pocket. Though he had intended the envelope itself to be disposable, his friend opened it very delicately as if she hoped to save it. And when she reached inside to withdraw its contents, Cyril smiled to see the surprise in Lysithea’s eyes.

“Wow, this is a far cry from your packaging,” said the girl, inspecting the crisply-cut strip of decorated parchment paper in the light. “Oh, and it’s covered in little flowers. Are those real? When did you learn to press them so neatly?”

“Look on the back!” Cyril requested excitedly. “There’s a little white lily on the back for ya. They’re your favourite, right?”

“They are,” she returned, beaming. “You made this for me as a bookmark, didn’t you?”

“Yup,” the boy answered proudly. “I know ya read real fast when it’s just you, but maybe you can use it after ya graduate. I’m sure there are lots of good books out there worth taking your time on.”

“Cyril, you have no idea,” Lysithea stated, smiling wide. “Reading isn’t just important for work or school related things, you know. The books on tactics and fighting the Professor has us read are all well and good, but they scarcely scratch the surface of the kinds of books out there. In the best of them, you’ll gain new insights and perspectives, learn things you wish you had known sooner, and explore distant nations or even worlds from the comfort of wherever you please at whatever pace pleases you. That’s the magic of books, Cyril: you can travel across time and space without ever having to move your feet.”

_ There was something special about Lysithea when she talked about something she was enthusiastic about. Her face lit up in just the same way as it did when she had something nice to eat, but there was a strength behind her voice that really sold the topic’s importance. Lady Rhea’s sermons were a bit like that and each of the House Leaders could definitely give rousing speeches, but none of them seemed to have the same kind of fire that Lysithea did.  _

“Wow,” Cyril marvelled. “And ya really think I can learn to read those kinds of books too?”

“Absolutely,” she replied confidently. “I meant it when I said that you were a hard worker. There’s no way someone as focused as you should have much trouble at all, and I hardly mind taking the time aside to teach you. This bookmark you made will be especially helpful when we read through all kinds of things together.”

“Guess I got no choice now,” the boy responded with a shrug. “I gotta ask Lady Rhea for a sabbati- sabataba-”

“Sabbatical,” Lysithea corrected, trying hard not to laugh.

“Right! One of those,” Cyril said, rubbing the back of his head. “Guess I got a lot to learn, huh?”

“Perhaps,” the girl answered, “but I can’t think of someone better equipped to learn it.”

The two friends shared a laugh and talked well into the afternoon together. By the time Cyril locked up the classroom, it was suppertime at the Dining Hall. As she always did, Lysithea made good on her word to never hide their friendship by insisting that he sit next her among the rest of the Golden Deer. With the Revelation Ceremony at the Holy Tomb looming on the morrow and graduation quickly creeping up on them, the students from the Officer’s Academy spoke loudly of where their futures might take them next. 

_ Cyril was already certain of his. Lady Rhea might not have had much time for him anymore, but it hardly bothered him so much now that he knew where he wanted to belong. He would stay at Garreg Mach and repay his debt to the Archbishop as well as he could, but he’d use his time off to keep the promise he and Lysithea had made on the Blue Sea Star. Together, the two would explore the worlds tucked into the pages of all the wonderful books they could find… and he’d probably even get to see that nice smile of hers from time to time. It was a future worth looking forward to, and one just within his reach. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who have played Three Houses or are familiar with its story, you probably know what's coming next. I wanted this chapter and the chapter before to end on the highest notes yet for our leading duo before things get really messy. In addition to showcasing how much both characters have grown, this chapter's clearest goal was to give them one last good day together. Lysithea's birthday (which I strategically planned this chapter's publication for) was a great opportunity for this to happen, and I wanted Cyril to try everything within his means to make it a special one for her. Claude definitely helps with this, and I wanted to have Cyril pick up on some of the pretty obvious clues he left out for him in their Support Conversations and in the way he throws his parties (I spent the better part of a day calling up Persian friends for this and asking them how they celebrate birthdays, then blending it together with my understanding of how birthdays are celebrated in the west). Importantly, I wanted to show Claude as Cyril's foil. If you've studied sociology or psychology at all, you may be aware of Berry's Acculturation Model. In this context, Cyril represents the marginalised immigrant, which involves the rejection of both his home and host cultures. It's interesting in that he mourns the rejection of neither, choosing to simply exist in whatever context is necessary for him. Claude, on the other hand, represents the integrated immigrant, who embraces both his home and host cultures because they're two sides of him. While he can celebrate these two sides of himself with the people closest to him, his sadness at being unable to openly celebrate who he is ultimately leads to his great dream for Fódlan. I think it's an incredibly clever dichotomy that I wanted to touch on a bit in this fic, with Cyril briefly acknowledging the good culture has to offer. The secret star of this chapter was Shamir, whose words and actions have a very profound impact on Cyril's own words and actions. Her version of a heart-to-heart is cold, cutting, and unrelentingly true, but it's a kindness Rhea does not offer him. This is demonstrated a bit in his slightly confrontational but well-meaning exchange he has here with Marianne, who he recognises as another person who's worth looking out for. More to the point: this talk offers Cyril an ultimatum about his place in life. Though he wouldn't have thought twice about this in the past, making friends and getting to know people has given him a freedom he's never really imagined before. In an ironic sort of way, Rhea's advice to him in Chapter 2 has helped him envision a life for himself beyond her. The last point I'll make here is that I really wanted to hammer home how much Cyril and Lysithea mean to each other. They've been so good for each other's development thus far and I'm even comfortable saying that they love each other a bit, but I feel absolutely no need to have them romantically involved until they grow up a bit more. 
> 
> As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it! Happy Birthday, Lysithea, and Bappy Cysithea Week 2020!


	9. Lysithea: Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the situation at Garreg Mach quickly deteriorates, Lysithea most process the implications that the inevitable war to come will have on her classmates, the people of Fódlan, and her most precious friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.

Today might have been a pleasant day had things turned out differently. The last of the winter snow had melted, heralding in spring’s arrival. Cool, clear water ran freely down the gullies and ravines cutting through the Oghma Mountains, watering Fódlan from the Airmid in the Alliance to the Brionac Plateau in the Empire to the sweeping Tailtean Plains in the Kingdom. Wildflowers and tall grass sprung to life as if beckoned by the Goddess herself, and the weather had been pleasantly warm all through the month. Were it not for the sky above Garreg Mach, one might even say that nature had unfurled all of her glory for the Goddess’ devoted down below.

_ But the sky… Lysithea had never seen anything like it before. _

As she and most of the Golden Deer students poured out of the Reception Hall, Lysithea pinched her own arm to convince herself that what she was seeing was not a dream. What had been a glorious blue sky earlier that morning had been dyed an ugly shade of orange. The sun shone weakly through the haze, while towering billows of grey and black devoured the horizon to the south. Tiny white flakes fell from the heavens, and Lysithea noticed Raphael stick out his tongue to catch one.

“Eurgh! Ptooey!” the large young man gagged, wiping his tongue on the back of his wrist. “What’s the Goddess putting in the snowflakes today?”

“Raphael, it’s spring. This isn’t snow… it’s ash,” Ignatz corrected, rubbing a dry, gray flake into powder between his finger and thumb. “And those clouds aren’t clouds… they’re smoke.”

“Is the Empire here already?” asked Leonie, squinting hard as she scanned the mountains surrounding the monastery town. A hideous shriek echoed off in the distance, followed promptly by a thunderous crack that echoed off from the south. “Damnit, they’re early! They must have lit the smoke downwind of the wall to cover their siege.”

“The town!” Lorenz called out. “If they punch through the perimeter wall, the townsfolk will be the first to get caught up in the fighting. We must evacuate them before the battle begins!”

“The knights can handle that, can’t they?” Hilda asked. “I saw Catherine and Alois leading two full battalions of them that way earlier this morning and they haven’t been back since. They’re probably already on it.”

“No, Lorenz is right,” Ignatz gulped, clenching a fist and looking to Raphael. “If the Knights of Seiros are busy holding off the siege, they won’t have time to guide the people in town to safety.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Raphael shouted. “The Professor and Claude can catch up later. We gotta go now!”

“Agreed,” Lorenz said resolutely. “Though we must conduct ourselves orderly. We cannot ensure a safe evacuation of such a large population of people without projecting authority. Leonie, you are the fastest of us. Head back to inform Claude and the Professor of our plans, then go to the Cathedral to get Marianne. If she was at prayer before that horrid noise, then she’ll likely be heading this way now. From there, the two of you can gather as many of our other classmates as you can when you meet us at the town square. Everyone else will abandon their things and come with me! Come! We must make haste now!”

Leonie nodded in agreement and the rest of the Golden Deer were off. Lysithea flipped open her satchel as she followed after Lorenz, and ruefully began discarding her books. The first to go was a heavy atlas of Fódlan, followed swiftly by her tactics primer. Then came the thick chronology of the last 200 years of Fódlan’s history. Next was a book on CrestologyProfessor Hanneman had given her that she had read through at least a dozen times, and had hoped to read through a dozen times more. Lysithea looked ahead of her for just a moment, and saw that her classmates were doing the same. 

_ This was symbolically as close to a graduation ceremony as they were likely to get as a class. By casting aside their school materials, Lysithea and the rest of the Golden Deer would be unburdened when they put all they learned over the last year into action.  _

The final book in her bag was  _ The Saint of Faerghus.  _ Lysithea had checked it out of the library so many times that Tomas’s recent replacement let her keep it. Though it reminded her of Solon from time to time, she treasured it for all of the wisdom and love its author, Cornelia, had clearly poured into writing it. Nearly every other page inside was dog-eared, and the book had become the home of her bookmark from Cyril.

_ At the very least she could save her birthday present. There was a little pocket inside her satchel that seemed safe enough… After all, it was a good enough place to put that ominous letter she received earlier in the month. Where was Cyril anyway? He and his wyvern, Saam, had been gone all morning. Perhaps they went with Catherine to help protect the wall… from the Empire… whose forces numbered in the thousands. If that was the case there was the chance that… No! He would be all right! Maybe they’d even run into each other while she and the rest of the Deer were evacuating the town. Yes, that was exactly what was going to happen. They would run into each other, fight through the coming battle together, and… then what? _

Another series of deafening screeches pierced the heavens, echoing down the surrounding mountains in an unholy chorus. With her bookmark safely tucked away, Lysithea cast aside  _ The Saint _ and hurried along with her classmates. As the group made it to the gate that led into the monastery’s market from the town, Lysithea and the other Deer quickly realised that the evacuation effort was going to be a massive undertaking. Throngs of men, women, and children all pressed in close towards the portcullis, their desperate pleas for sanctuary being met with apprehensive instructions from the monastery’s gatekeeper.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lorenz demanded of the gatekeeper. “Why are the gates shuttered to the townsfolk?”

“Oh, uh… Greetings, Golden Deer House,” the nervous soldier managed, trying feebly to sound reassuring. “Catherine’s orders. None are to enter the monastery while the siege is underway; we can’t risk the safety of the monastery or any of the artefacts inside.”

“That may well be, but these people are frightened and desperate,” the young nobleman retorted. “Should you keep them here, they’re sure to be cut to ribbons when the fighting breaks out in the town, provided they don’t trample each other in a panic first. Would the Archbishop ask that of them?”

“Of course not,” the gatekeeper responded angrily, “but the knights took half my garrison with them when they went to secure the wall. I want to get these people to safety as much as you do, but I don’t have the manpower to lead an evacuation effort AND hold the gate.”

“You leave the evacuation to us!” Raphael boomed, shoving his way through his classmates and looming high over the gatekeeper. “Give us ten guys to help us keep everyone together, and we’ll get these people to the eastern gate and on the road to the Alliance.”

“That’s almost all the soldiers I have left here!” the gatekeeper protested.

“C’mon!” the hulking young man practically roared back. “You only need a couple to open and close the gate. After we get everyone out, we’ll come back with your men and help you hold it ourselves.”

_ It was unusual to see Raphael take on such a tone of authority, but he seemed surprisingly confident in a leadership role. It was like he was channeling Lorenz or even Claude. An unusual thing to see from someone she normally deemed a knucklehead, but it was hardly surprising. After Lysithea and the other Deer learned what had happened to Raphael’s parents, she supposed that her burly classmate would do just about anything to keep the same fate from befalling anyone else during a time of crisis. _

“Oh, fine,” the gatekeeper conceded, “but if Catherine asks, I’m going to tell her that Gloucester here pulled rank over me.”

“Do as you will, but call your men over post-haste,” Lorenz replied flippantly. “Raphael, can you get the crowd’s attention?”

“On it,” Raphael said with a nod, cupping his hands together and holding them over his mouth. Lysithea covered her ears for the inevitable shouting to come. “HEY, EVERYONE! CALM DOWN AND LISTEN UP! WE’RE GONNA GET YOU OUTTA HERE!”

_ Even with her palms over her ears, Lysithea still thought Raphael’s voice was obnoxiously loud. At least he was putting it to good use this one time instead of ‘helping’ Flayn work on her battlecry. _

The gatekeeper, most of the other Deer, and those at the front of the crowd also winced at the volume of Raphael’s voice, but the ensuing silence spoke to its effectiveness. Hilda was the first to capitalise on it.

“You heard the man!” the noblewoman called out, her voice sweet yet commanding. “We’re going to be moving you all through the gate quickly but calmly. I need neat rows of eight at a time to get you through without too much trouble, so pass the message on to the folks behind you, okay? If we all work together here, everyone will be able to evacuate through the monastery grounds easy-peasy!”

Professor Byleth’s lectures had set in well with Hilda; the townsfolk complied with the young woman’s commands, standing shoulder to shoulder and passing the message along to those around them. As if to further solidify her control on the situation, Hilda climbed the stairway to the top of the battlements and began cheering on the townsfolk.

_ Hilda had a strange way of getting people to do exactly what she wanted them to do. Some might have mistaken it for authority or even initiative, but Lysithea knew how much her friend liked working her charm. This may as well have been a continuation of the White Heron Cup for her. _

Satisfied with her work, Hilda signalled to the soldiers that it was time to raise the gate. Lorenz took the initiative to lead the townsfolk into the monastery grounds, while Raphael and Ignatz walked on either side of the crowd, assuaging their concerns as well as they could. For her part, Lysithea took count of the civilians as they filed through the gate. She would confirm the final number with Hilda and the town elders later to make sure no one was left behind.

_ Four-hundred and ninety-six, five-hundred and four, AND five hundred and ten… It looked like the family of six in the rear was the last of them. It seemed unfair that all of these people were having their lives upheaved like this, but this was what war looked like… Edelgard’s war. Why would her friend do something like this? _

“Can you stay here as insurance, Lysithea?” Hilda asked from the ramparts, her voice breaking the younger girl’s line of thought. “Our gatekeeper friend here needs someone extra capable now that most of his troops are out with our classmates, and I can’t think of anyone more capable than you.”

“Hmph, in case you haven’t noticed, Hilda: I’m not some slack-jawed child fawning for your attention,” Lysithea huffed, crossing her arms at her chest. “But fine, I’ll stay here. If only because I just know the Death Knight is in the enemy’s ranks.”

“Ohhh! Right!” Hilda beamed back cheerfully. “If that creep came by with just little, old me protecting this place, I’m not sure I’d last very long.”

_ That was an understatement. It was doubtful even Professor Byleth could match the Death Knight in armed combat. If it wasn’t for her impeccable aim and magical arsenal, Lysithea was sure Rhea would have had to write several letters of condolences to the families of the Golden Deer class not long after their first run-in with the frightening knight. _

“No, you wouldn’t,” the girl snapped, offering her classmate a cheeky smile. “That’s why I’m staying in the danger zone, while you help the townspeople to safety. Tell the others I counted five-hundred and ten of them.”

“Got it!” the young lady replied with a wink. “Thanks, Lysithea! You’re the best~!”

_ Lysithea didn’t need to be reminded; she knew she was the best. Besides, this was just the opportunity she was hoping for. In this little moment of respite from the others, she could finally get to her mail... _

As Hilda descended the stairs and skipped after the evacuating civilians, Lysithea felt a chill run up her spine. Once she was sure her classmates were out of sight, she reached into her satchel, opened the buttoned-up pocket inside, flicked past the bookmark Cyril made for her, and fished out the letter. As she stared down at the double-headed eagle of House Hresvelg stamped in crimson wax upon the envelope peaking out at her from inside her satchel, she felt a lump in her throat.

_ It made sense that Petra, Dorothea, Caspar, Linhardt, Ferdinand, and Bernadetta all got letters like these this month; they were Edelgard’s former classmates and countrymen… except for Petra, who was the Empire’s ‘guest’ from Brigid. But why her? Why did Lysithea get one too? _

Running her thumbnail under the flap of the envelope, Lysithea broke the wax seal and quickly withdrew the letter from within. Before she could even process the content of the letter, her eyes instinctively scanned the author’s handwriting.

_ It was practically flawless. Edelgard’s penmanship always was. If Lysithea was a different person, she might have felt honoured to have received a personal letter from the new Adrestian Emperor. If she found herself in any other circumstance, she might have been glad to receive correspondence from someone she considered a friend… someone who truly understood her. Here in the present, however, Lysithea felt hurt. _

“Dear Lysithea,

Where am I to start? I cannot apologise for my actions at the Holy Tomb, and I will not stop until the world is well rid of Rhea and the tyrannical system she and her like have perpetuated in Fódlan for more than a thousand years. I wage this war in the names of the countless, unnamed masses who have been trampled and destroyed by the Church’s twisted doctrine. The structures supporting this world are rotten to the core, and must be torn out root and stem to give way for something better.

I am writing to you now because I know you see things as I do. You would not hurt as I do in the face of cruelty and injustice if that were not the case. The world as it is has taken so much from you, and you owe it nothing in return. Not your service, and certainly not your life. Everything I do now is to make the world a place where people never again have to endure what you and others like you have. A place where a person’s efforts and merits determine their worth, instead of their blood. 

Lysithea, I implore you to consider joining me on my path to make the world I envision a reality. I know it is a difficult thing I ask of you, but I also know that you will fight with all your heart for what you believe in. May those beliefs guide you well.

Your sincere friend,

Edelgard von Hresvelg”

_ No titles, no threats, no condescension. Edelgard was a remarkable woman… and a dangerous enemy. Though she acknowledged what Lysithea had been through, she made no point in confirming the same for herself. Why? Was she holding this back because she didn’t trust Lysithea with the truth? If she had a secret second Crest, it would make sense not to reveal it to a potential enemy… but if she didn’t? Then it meant she had seen through Lysithea’s carefully protected secret and used it to gain leverage on her… or worse… _

Another hideous screech pierced the air, followed quickly by a tremendous boom. That was not the sound of any siege weapon Lysithea had studied at the Officer’s Academy; it was the sound of a Demonic Beast. The girl looked around her to see students, clergymen, mercenaries, and knights rushing south to the great wall that separated the monastery from the outside world. Lysithea stowed the letter away again and grit her teeth. 

_ Just how many Demonic Beasts was Edelgard planning on using? She had brought them into the Holy Tomb last month, and now she had them poised to attack her former classmates… the beasts themselves might have even been her former classmates! This went against everything she said in her letter. How could she make a world where no one had to suffer like Lysithea had by using the same terrible methods that caused such suffering in the first place? _

Trumpets sounded out on the horizon for a brief second before they were utterly drowned out by the Cathedral’s bells tolling an alarm. In the distance and through the smoke, Lysithea made out a sheet of dust and rubble falling from the perimeter wall that surrounded the town of Garreg Mach. Something hard and heavy was cracking away at it from the other side.

_ They were coming… When Lysithea thought back on how her days at the Officer’s Academy might have ended, she remembered imagining a quiet ceremony in the courtyard… not an invasion, and certainly not a continental civil war. Was Cyril with the Knights at the top of the wall, trying to repel the invaders? If so, would she ever get to see him again? _

“W-What is that?!” came the quaky voice of a nearby soldier. “Oh gods, are they already here?”

The girl looked up and noticed the shadowy figure of a winged beast blot out the sun and begin to descend from above her and the other soldiers. Soon, the flapping of leathery wings followed, and Lysithea drew Thyrsus and prepared a spell to defend herself.

“Whoa! Whoa! It’s me!” an unmistakable voice cried out as the jingle of reigns halted the flying creature’s advance. “Can ya put that thing down?”

“Cyril!” Lysithea gasped, quickly lowering the wand and letting her spell dissipate in her clenched fist. “Cyril, you  _ cannot _ sneak up on me at a time like this! I was about to blow you and Saam to pieces!”

Cyril landed his wyvern nearby, heaving a massive sigh as the beast under him shook himself out and greeted Lysithea with a friendly flick of his forked tongue. For all of the tension in the air, Saam remained as cool and collected as ever.

“Sorry, Lysithea… we’re glad ya didn’t,” Cyril admitted, gulping as he looked out at the billows of smoke rising in the distance. “Shamir said the wall won’t hold for too much longer, so she asked me to come back and get you, the Professor, and all the others. Dimitri and the Knights are already fortifying the town for the worst, but we gotta hurry.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, stowing Thyrsus and making her way over to Cyril and Saam. “The others took off to guide the townspeople to the eastern gate. The road to the Alliance is the quickest, safest route for escape right now.”

“Good thinkin’,” Cyril concurred, offering Lysithea his hand. “Here: hop on back. We can head over there to spread the message before we get back to the front. Can ya handle it here, gatekeep?”

The gatekeeper smiled and shot Cyril a stiff salute; the man seemed relieved to know that his post would not be at the front lines of the battle as he had anticipated. Lysithea watched her friend inch forward in his saddle to make room for her in the seat, gripping his reins to keep Saam in place as she approached. Though it was evident that Cyril had become quite close with his wyvern since he began riding late last year, he still had taken to flying far more naturally than most. By this time last month, he was already keeping pace with veteran fliers like Seteth. With war on their doorstep now, every bit of expertise would be needed.

_ It was as if Cyril was born to saddle up and take to the skies. Like loosing his bow from Saam’s back was something running through his veins. Naturally, it got people talking. Not even a week ago, she overheard a group of priests gossiping about how he looked ‘every bit the Almyran devil they always suspected him to be astride that wicked wyrm of his’. As much as she wanted to shout at them for their boorish bigotry, she knew better than to argue with idiots. They weren’t worth the effort. Even if Cyril personally saved every one of them today, changing their minds on Almyrans would take years of diplomatic work that no one on the continent seemed to want to do. It didn’t matter now, anyway. He was probably happy enough knowing she and Rhea appreciated him. _

“Thanks.” Grasping Cyril’s hand and feeling his calloused fingers, Lysithea barely had to hop as her friend hoisted her up high enough for her foot to reach the stirrup. Saam looked back to watch her climb up, seeming almost amused at how the girl had to use Cyril’s shoulder for support as she swung her leg over the saddle. Once she was settled in, she wrapped her arms around her friend’s waist and held on tight. “I’m ready.”

Cyril nodded and gave Saam a prod with his heels, prompting the beast to stand upright on his hind legs and stretch his wings out wide. Saam looked up to the heavens above him and lowered himself for a split second before pushing off of the ground in a massive burst of strength. Within seconds, the battlements and marketplace below them seemingly shrank to the size of a throw rug as the wyvern, his rider, and their passenger climbed high into the air. Once they reached a comfortable cruising altitude and levelled off, Lysithea loosened her grip on Cyril’s waist before looking out at the dismal sight on the horizon. 

_ The enemy host was far larger than she anticipated. Many more than just a few hundred. _

“Two thousand of them, at least,” Cyril said stoically, as if reading her mind, “and eleven of those Demonic Beasts that fly. Shamir managed to bring down the twelfth on her own, but she and the rest of the knights had to fall back once they were sure the wall was coming down.”

“Did you see any strange mages with them?” Lysithea asked, almost instinctively. “Mages all in black?”

“No, I didn’t. I was with Lady Rhea and Catherine in the town until Shamir got back with the rest of the knights,” her friend replied. “Why mages in black, though? Everyone in the Imperial Army wears black armour. Are ya afraid to fight Hubert or something?”

“Not in the slightest,” she insisted, deflecting his question. “If we see him today, you and I are going to make sure he’s sorry for the way he treated you. He said it himself: our enemy’s enemy-” 

“Is an enemy for another day,” Cyril scoffed. “I’m surprised ya remembered that.”

“Don’t be,” the girl replied sternly. “I forget just about as easily as I forgive, and the way he had you pinned against that wall was unforgivable.”

Cyril did not offer much of a response, opting instead to keep his face forward and out of Lysithea’s line of sight. She hardly minded; her own attentions were on the battle to come. 

_ The Death Knight, Hubert, the Demonic Beasts, the Imperial army, Edelgard… and those mages. How did those mages figure into Edelgard’s plans? Were they the Emperor’s puppets or her puppet masters? Neither seemed to make much sense. The Imperial army alone was likely large enough to take Fódlan by force with proper planning. The Knights of Seiros were too few, the Kingdom’s army had been spread thin since the subjugation of Duscur, and the Alliance lords were too politically divided to unite against any kind of threat within Fódlan’s borders. Lysithea reasoned that it wouldn’t take much more than five years to bring the whole continent under the Adrestian heel if the forces at Garreg Mach weren’t able to break the Empire’s momentum here today. Why, then, did Edelgard bring those monsters into the fold? _

“Say… Lysithea?” Cyril asked suddenly. “Can I tell ya something?”

“Huh?” came the girl, wrenching herself out of her own thoughts. “Of course. What’s up?”

“It’s about today,” he started, “I’m a little scared.”

“That’s natural,” she replied honestly. “To be perfectly honest, I am too. We’re facing down a battle we’re very unlikely to win outright. I believe in the Professor and the others, but-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Cyril interrupted. “I meant… I’m scared of what happens next. Whether we win today or we don't, everything’s gonna change.”

_ What did that mean? _

“I suppose you’re right,” Lysithea conceded, “but can you be more specific? What exactly are you afraid of? Dying?”

“No, not dying,” her friend replied. “Dying… it’s just the end. That’s it, and there’s nothing else to worry ‘bout after that. I know Lady Rhea and the Church say it’s not, but I’ve never been so sure how right they were about it. Still, ya know I was never here for the Church. If protecting Lady Rhea means I gotta die, then I gotta die. I’m okay with that.”

_ Lysithea wasn't. _

“It won’t come to that,” she said sharply. “We’re a team, remember?”

“Yeah…” Cyril croaked. “But whether we win or we lose, us being a team… it’s over after today, isn’t it?”

“Why would you say that?” Lysithea hissed, giving her friend a defiant nudge. He did not snap back at her the way he might have a year ago.

“If we win, Lady Rhea’s probably gonna have Edelgard and everyone who supported her killed. That’ll be the end of the Empire, and things are gonna get real messy real fast. I don’t understand Fódlan’s politics too well, but I don’t have any doubts about that much,” Cyril said with a sigh.

_ Neither did she. Cyril was exactly right; even the best case scenario seemed dismal. _

“And your family’s territory is real close to the Empire, right?” he continued. “You’re gonna have to go home to help them keep everyone there safe, and it’s gonna take years to smooth everything out… And that all only happens if we win.”

_ She didn’t have many years ahead of her as it stood. _

“We will,” Lysithea said as if to convince her friend and herself that the improbable was the inevitable. “And you know my family’s doors are always open to you. You and Saam are going to come visit me in Ordelia Territory, Cyril, and I’m going to teach you to read and write. That was our deal! You promised!”

“Y-Yeah… I promised,” Cyril quaked. “If we lose, though… we’re either dead or we’re never gonna see each other again. I gotta go where Lady Rhea goes, and it’s not right for us to put you and your folks in danger by being there. I'm probably gonna be on the run for the rest of my life.”

Lysithea bit down on her lip.

_ He was right again, and it stung. It stung harder than Edelgard’s letter or even the potential presence of those awful mages. Given her way, Edelgard would hunt Rhea to the ends of the Earth. She would hunt her down and kill her. That was the only way to build the world she envisioned. And Cyril? He was going to go where Rhea went… even if that meant to his grave. There was some selfish part of Lysithea that thought about asking her friend to flee with her back to the Alliance, but she couldn’t ask Cyril to choose between her and Rhea. After all… he wasn’t going to make her choose between him and her parents. He had made that much clear already. _

“That’s why we have to win, Cyril,” Lysithea choked, pulling herself tight against her friend’s back. “You aren't going to lose the life you've built here! I don’t care if I have to take the Death Knight down a hundred more times. Hubert and even Edelgard too. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I won’t let things just come to that!”

There was a pause before Cyril spoke again.

“Me neither,” the boy murmured shakily. Lysithea could not see his face, but it sounded like he wanted to cry. If he turned back to look at her, he might see that she had already beaten him to it. “We’re gonna win, and I’m gonna take that sabbatabical.”

Laughing and crying at the same time seemed ridiculous to Lysithea, but she could hardly help it now.

“Heh, you mean:  _ ‘sabbatical’ _ ,” the girl corrected with a laugh that felt more like a sob. 

“Yeah, a  _ sabbatical.  _ Guess I gotta work on tha… Ahaha!” Before he could get it all out, Cyril suddenly burst out laughing. Lysithea still could not tell whether or not he was crying too, but she held him tight and laughed right along with him. Their laughter filled the hazy air above the monastery grounds as Saam circled to descend upon their destination. 

_ What a rotten day this promised to be. By this time tomorrow, they would all either be dead, imprisoned, or bound to duties that would take a lifetime to see through... though Lysithea did not have much lifetime ahead of her. And yet in this moment, she hardly could think of any other place she’d rather be nor anything else she’d rather be doing. Of course, she’d have to wipe away her tears before the others saw them, but Saam’s nice, slow descent gave her precious seconds to enjoy this bittersweet moment and prepare for the next. The next moment… well, it promised to be the hardest fight of her life. Difficulty never cowed her, though. If anything, it encouraged her. There was so much more riding on this battle than getting back at those wicked mages or stopping Edelgard. Lysithea had plans to keep, and a boy whose future she wanted to ensure. If she and that boy were half the team she thought they were, the foes before them didn’t stand a chance. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me preface my afterword by saying this: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK A YEAR TO GET OUT TO YOU GUYS. With lockdown conditions, an increased workload, multiple moves, and my MA to focus on, 2020 was the busiest year of my life thus far. It was pretty draining, but I'm very grateful for my health, my friends, my family, and my stable source of income. To those of you who have read and waited on a continuation to this fic: thank you so very much. I hope this chapter and the chapters to come will be worth the wait to you all! =]
> 
> I had been working on this chapter before my hiatus, and I really wanted it to focus on dialogue. Though I've covered many of the characters featured in this chapter before in this fic, I wanted to use dialogue between them to build tension and a sense of finality to the Golden Deer House's time as students of the Officer's Academy. To this end, I also wanted to showcase some of what these kids have learned over the last year or so. Another thing I wanted to toss in here was a final word in from Edelgard (who likely will not come back into the story as a featured character for quite a while). I think her relationship with Lysithea is really interesting, and I wanted to dive into that one final time before they became full-blown enemies. Naturally, it would be a little difficult to do in a battlefield setting, but Petra's Lone Moon monastery dialogue reveals that Edelgard sent letters to a number of students at Garreg Mach before the battle. To this end, I wanted to demonstrate Edelgard's compassion and shrewdness in equal measures through her use of a letter. Finally, I couldn't come back to this story without getting to the heart of it: namely Cyril and Lysithea's relationship. More than anything else, I wanted this chapter to hammer home the sudden (and frankly sad) end to these two characters' time together as kids at the academy. While they're both mature enough to acknowledge it as a potential reality, neither seem quite ready for it to actually happen. While Lysithea intends to fight against it, I think she and Cyril understand that it's inevitable. That's a tough pill for anyone (let alone a pair of kids) to swallow, and I think it's natural for them to cry about it.
> 
> As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it! Bappy Cysithea Week 2021!


End file.
